


i've heard it both ways

by louistomlinsons



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Psych Fusion, Anal Sex, Detectives, Light Angst, M/M, Not really though, Psychic Abilities, Top Harry, Top Louis, idk how to tag, so uh, they have sex, they kind of share that really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louistomlinsons/pseuds/louistomlinsons
Summary: “I, uh.” Harry is scrambling, trying to think of something believable on the spot. He remembers the woman from reception and her phone call and says the only thing he can think of. “I’m a psychic.”Everyone stills.Zayn laughs, Detective Edwards looks confused, and the officer holding the door open looks mildly frightened.“A psychic?” Zayn gets out between his laughs. “I’ve heard it all. You’re definitely spending the night in the holding cell now. You’re wasting all of our time here.”an au based on the tv show psych where harry is shawn, louis is jules, liam is gus, niall is mcnabb, and zayn is lassie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this will have three chapters, posted the next two mondays!  
>   
> there's some descriptions of crime scenes, nothing gory or too detailed, but if that isn't your cup of tea i won't be offended. otherwise i'd like to think this is pretty lighthearted and you definitely don't have to have seen the show before to understand anything.  
>   
> for [jess](http://slowlyseducedbycurls.tumblr.com/) who dealt with me sending her twenty messages in a ten second period, multiple times, while she was sleeping  
>   
> also you're welcome to message me or be my friend at my [tumblr](http://microlouis.tumblr.com/)

“The dad did it,” Harry mumbles, half distracted as he watches the news play out on his television. He’s got one hand on the remote, the other curled in some hair on his lap, prepared to turn off the TV when an offer of a reward pops up. He figures might as well and reaches over to grab his phone to call the police station

“What the fuck?” comes from Harry’s crotch. He looks down, remembering what had been happening to him. The man gets up from his knees, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. “Did you forget I was here?”

“If I say yes, is that going to make you leave?” Harry asks carefully. It obviously hadn’t been a memorable blowjob, but any blowjob is better than none at all. 

“Probably, unless you play your cards right,” the man answers, but it’s kind of hard to take him seriously with the bulge in his pants almost at eye level. 

“I respect your honesty,” Harry says, pressing the call button on his phone. “Let me make one quick phone call and I’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

“What phone call could be  _ this _ important?” The man rolls his eyes but sits down on the couch without saying anything else, so Harry doesn’t think he’s actually that upset. 

He doesn’t bother replying, listening to the dial tone in his ears. He’s starting to get impatient, tapping his fingers on the back of the couch, when someone finally picks up. 

“Santa Barbara police department, what can I do for you?” Harry winces as a shrill voice comes from the other end of the line.

“The dad’s the one who kidnapped his daughter,” he says, prepared to hang up. He feels like that’s self-explanatory, but apparently the woman on the other end of the line does not feel the same way. 

“Sir, what are you talking about?” she sounds impatient, as if this call isn’t important. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Harry watches from the corner of his eye as the man sitting next to him on the couch shifts impatiently. He reaches out and places a hand on the man’s thigh,  gripping tightly and holding him there. He wonders briefly what the man’s name is; if he ever got it before they left the bar. 

“The dad being interviewed on channel 6 for his daughter’s kidnapping,” Harry explains calmly. “He’s begging for the kidnapper to bring her home, but he’s the one who kidnapped her. She’s probably in on it. Not sure what the motive is, but look into it.”

“Can I get your name?” she asks, voice suddenly sounding interested, as if she might believe him. 

“Yeah, sure,” he says, “Harry Styles. That’s who you can make the check out to.”

She probably starts to say something else, but Harry has already hung up, more interested in pulling the other man in the room onto his lap and picking up where they had left off. 

 

Harry receives a call just two days later, letting him know he should swing by the police station as soon as he can. He smiles smugly to himself as he gets ready, realizing that he’s once again solved a case the police couldn’t just by watching the news.  _ Take that, dad _ , he thinks,  _ I knew I was too good to be on the force _ .

It’s a nice day out, which he’s thankful for, seeing as his car broke down a week ago and he’s had to walk everywhere as he saves up the money to fix it. He could swallow his pride and call his dad to ask for advice, but that would be admitting defeat. He would just be disappointed in Harry for never being the traditional son he had always wanted.

Grabbing his sunglasses, he makes his way to the station. It’s a quick walk and he arrives thirty minutes after he received the phone call, in a good mood. He always is when he manages to get a tip right, though there’s usually no reward attached. He always calls in anyway; he likes making the police feel like fools. 

Walking through the front doors, he’s hit with the bustle of the place. It’s obvious they’re understaffed and overrun, everyone having a million things to do. Harry almost feels bad for them.  _ Almost _ . 

He walks up to the front desk, trying to be patient as the lady running the reception talks away on the phone. By the tone of her voice, she’s the lady Harry had talked to both yesterday when he called in about the tip and today when they had asked him to come down. Harry winces as he listens, the shrillness even worse in person. She motions for him to wait over on the bench, going on and on into the phone about how she had paid so much money for something and it had turned out to be a fraud. Harry doesn’t feel bad for her as she gestures again for him to sit on the bench when he doesn’t immediately walk away. 

Harry sighs dramatically before turning and joining a handcuffed woman on the bench. She seems innocent enough, straight blonde hair past her shoulders and a pleasant face. Harry learned years ago that looks could be deceiving, though. 

“How’s your day going?” he asks, trying to make polite conversation. He has no idea how long they could be sitting there waiting. He knows from past experience, waiting on his dad, that police work can take hours. His dad would often let hours go by before he noticed, letting Harry wait that whole time.

“Are you really trying to flirt with me while I’m handcuffed?” she snorts, rolling her eyes. He notices her chipped nail polish, the tangles in her hair. She’s got yesterday’s makeup smudged underneath her eyes, looking exhausted. 

“Just trying to make the time pass by, but never mind. Won’t do that again,” he says, turning away from her and pulling out his phone. He’s got one missed text message from his friend Liam and two missed messages from who he assumes is the guy he had hooked up with just two nights before, asking if he wants to grab dinner. He sends Liam some dumb emoji and deletes the two from the guy, not even having his number saved into his phone. 

“Hmm,” she sighs from beside him. She turns to face Harry as much as she can and Harry notices that she’s got a teardrop tattooed on the other side of her face that he hadn’t noticed before. It’s poorly done and fading, looking more like smudged eyeshadow. “What are you in for?”

“Obviously nothing as bad as you, since I’m not the one in handcuffs,” he points out. She snorts again. Harry wonders if that’s all she knows how to do. “What are  _ you _ in for?” He can tell by the shards of microscopic glass covering her clothing she’s got to be in for breaking something. He turns out to be right.

“I broke into my ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend’s house,” she replies, unashamed. Harry tries to keep an even face, as if that isn’t one of the craziest things he’s ever heard. 

“As one does,” he deadpans. 

She doesn’t seem to notice his sarcasm, saying, “No witnesses, though. They’ve just got me in the area, running away. Can’t place me at the actual crime scene. I’ll probably be let go.”

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat, mildly disgusted at the idea that this crazy girl will actually be set free just to probably turn around and do something crazier. “You might want to dust yourself off, then. I can see the shards of glass all over you.”

She smiles appreciatively, thanking him as she wipes herself off. It doesn’t do much good. She wipes most of the glass directly onto her pants and down her boots. Harry doesn’t bother telling her about that one. She seems like a bright girl, she’ll get it. Just moments later, an officer is coming to get her and leading her to god knows where and Harry is left alone. 

Sitting there, essentially twiddling his thumbs while waiting for someone to hand over his check, he takes note of the rest of the police station. He had done his customary sweep when he had walked in, taking note of everyone in the room and what they were wearing, but now he focuses more on their actions. 

He can hear the woman from reception still blabbering away on the phone about how much she misses her cat and how much she wishes that she could just find a real psychic. Harry rolls his eyes, wondering how people can actually be so gullible. He wonders if there even are real psychics in the world. They’ve all got to be a sham. 

Harry turns his attention from the woman at reception to one of the uniformed cops, who’s tapping his toes and swaying his hips to music that isn’t playing. Harry chuckles softly to himself, appreciating how carefree he looks. He’s got dark hair, lighter on the ends, and he also seems to be humming to himself. 

Before he has time to take stock of anyone else in the room, a tanned man with dark hair is approaching him. Harry sits up straighter, excited at the prospect of getting paid and getting the hell out of there. Police stations have got to be his least favorite place. 

“Mr. Styles?” the man says, stopping directly in front of Harry. Harry leans up to meet his eyes, trying his best to smile politely. There’s something about the man that rubs Harry the wrong way, something off in his eyes. Harry can tell from his look that this isn’t leading into a pleasant conversation or a check with his name on it.

“That’s me,” Harry says snarkily. He stands up so he’s face to face with the man, hoping he doesn’t give away that he’s slightly anxious at the turn of events. 

“Come with me,” is all he gets in reply, the man turning and walking away, not even making sure Harry is following him. He leads Harry down a long hallway to an interrogation room and Harry is even more perplexed. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like any water?” 

Harry shakes his head, furrowing his brow but taking a seat. A short, blonde woman joins them, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail against her neck. The man’s face immediately softens, his hands gently brushing against her waist as she walks past him to take a seat. The man chooses to stand. Harry rolls his eyes mentally; he knows that this is a power move on his part. 

“Hi, Harry,” starts the woman. “Can I call you Harry?” She doesn’t wait for Harry to respond before continuing on. “I’m Detective Edwards. We’ve just got a few questions to ask you. We’re a little confused on some things.”

Harry tries his best to smile sweetly. He knows attitude will get him nowhere in this room. “Questions about what?”

The man scoffs. “Don’t play dumb.”

Oh, Harry thinks, so they’re playing good cop, bad cop. How cliche of them. Harry’s dad had always said that both cops in the room should be equal parts good and bad, to keep the suspect on their toes, never knowing which cop was going to snap and which one would be soothing.

“I’m not playing dumb about anything,” Harry says honestly. “I don’t normally need to play dumb; I just am.”

The woman fights back a smile at this, but the man just rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. 

“Like I said before, we’re just a little confused by some things.”

“Pez, just cut the crap,” the man interrupts. “Mr. Styles, we know you were in on the kidnapping of Maggie Stratford.”

Harry feels his heart drop to his stomach. “You  _ what _ ?”

“Surprised we figured it out?” the man asks cockily, stepping forward and putting his hands on the table. He leans in as he speaks to Harry. “Mr. Stratford had a partner. He won’t give us a name, but we’re not idiots.”

“Uh, I think you might be.” Harry can’t help himself. He’s never been good at biting his tongue. “I think you’re off your rocker if you think that I had anything to do with this. I helped you  _ solve it _ .”

Harry can read the name on the man’s badge, Detective Zayn Malik. A fitting name for the jackass standing in front of him. 

“Mr. Styles,” Zayn continues, ignoring Harry’s comments. He’s trying to appear as if Harry isn’t phasing him, but Harry can see the tightness in his jaw and the way he’s tensing his shoulders. This isn’t the first time people have tried to play this game with Harry. “We know you didn’t want to share the ransom money. Just make this easier on us all and give us the details the easy way.”

Harry scoffs and rolls his eyes, standing up. “I’m leaving. You can’t keep me here, I know my rights.”

The door swings open and the officer from earlier, the one dancing and singing to himself, appears and begins saying the lines Harry has drilled into his head since before he could talk. He’s pretty sure his first words were “Miranda Rights.”

Harry cuts the officer off. “You can’t be serious?”

Zayn stands up, pulling cuffs from his belt. “I think a night in a holding cell might jog your memory.”

Harry panics, remembering all the crazy people he’s seen in holding cells before. He doesn’t fit in there, doesn’t belong there. 

“What if I can prove it to you that I’m not your guy?” Harry bargains, turning with pleading eyes to Detective Edwards. She looks uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact. Harry wonders if she really believes that he’s their guy. 

“Mr. Styles, your opportunities to prove your innocence have momentarily passed,” Zayn says, walking towards Harry with the handcuffs. Harry  _ hates _ handcuffs. He’d do anything to stay out of them after his father traumatized him with them when he was younger. 

“What if I can tell you how I knew?”

Detective Edwards looks up at this. “How?”

Zayn cuts her a sharp look. “Pez, he’s just going to mock us again.”

Detective Edwards holds up her hand to cut him off. “Harry, how did you know the dad was the kidnapper?”

“I, uh.” Harry is scrambling, trying to think of something believable on the spot. He remembers the woman from reception and her phone call and says the only thing he can think of. “I’m a psychic.”

Everyone stills. 

Zayn laughs, Detective Edwards looks confused, and the officer holding the door open looks mildly frightened. 

“A  _ psychic _ ?” Zayn gets out between his laughs. “I’ve heard it all. You’re definitely spending the night in the holding cell now. You’re wasting all of our time here.”

“Prove it.” Detective Edward’s voice is firm, despite her shakey appearance.

“You two are sleeping together,” is the first thing he can blurt out. “Zayn’s recently out of a serious relationship and you two are trying to keep is casual, but Detective Edwards, you aren’t feeling so casual.” It’s a low blow, but the more personal he can make it the more likely they are to believe it.

Zayn looks less like laughing now, but Detective Edwards looks even more frightened. 

“Lucky guess,” Zayn says sternly, but makes no movements forward. “Have any other insights for us?”

Harry spins to look at the officer behind him. “Uh, our lovely officer here is trying to incorporate dancing into his workouts. At first he was embarrassed, but now he loves it. He goes to Zumba and the old ladies just eat him up and he can’t get the music out of his head while he’s working.”

“Oh shit!” the officer exclaims, face breaking into a smile. “Wow, you’re the real deal, huh? I believe him.”

Zayn’s face remains tense, lips tight. “Niall, you’d believe anyone about anything. You’re the most trusting guy I know.”

“Zayn,” Detective Edwards says quietly. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

Zayn whips around the stare incredulously at her. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this crap. Pez, I thought you were smarter than this.”

Detective Edwards looks rightfully offended. “This isn’t a matter of intelligence. Honestly, Zayn, I’d think you might be the idiot in this situation if you don’t believe what’s happening before your eyes.”

“The girl brought in before me, probably to another interrogation room, check her boots for glass,” Harry says. “She did it, and that’s all the proof you’ll need.”

Detective Edwards mumbles, “That’s so specific. It’s got to be right. Zayn!”

Zayn turns to face Harry, eyes narrowed into slits. “You may have everyone else fooled, but you’re not fooling me. If you turn out to be lying, I will come for you.”

Harry barely has time to process the change in events before he’s being shoved out the door and escorted back to the reception. Word has apparently spread fast about his “abilities” and the woman’s face is much friendlier this time when Harry approaches.

“Could you connect me to my deceased cat?” she asks as Harry signs some forms. He has to bite his lip to hold back his laughter but nods his head anyway. “Oh, you’ll have to come back sometime so we can get on that. I miss her everyday.”

Harry clasps his hands together in a prayer motion, bowing his head. “She misses you very much.” He doesn’t wait for any more of her questions as he turns on his heels and makes his way out of the police station. His phone’s dead, so he’s not sure how much time has actually passed, but he can’t figure it’s been very long as the sun is still shining brightly. He’s barely made it down the steps before he hears his name being called.

He almost doesn’t turn around, but then his name is called again, this time louder and more insistent. It’s closer too, coming from the steps just above him. Harry finally turns around, shoulders tense as he’s ready to have to fight again. 

The person walking towards him is mildly intimidating, dark hair buzzed close to his head. He’s wearing sunglasses that shield his eyes, radiating authority. Harry has really never done well with authority so he has to bite back the sassy comments that cross his mind. 

“Yes?” Harry asks, trying to appear collected as he raises one of his eyebrows, as if he hasn’t been frazzled by the afternoon’s events. “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Styles,” the man says, stopping a step above Harry. Harry notices he must do that because he’s actually shorter than him and wants to assert some type of dominance. He hates that. “I’m Chief Cowell. I heard about what happened in there, and I think I might be interested in your services.”

Harry can’t help the shocked look that overtakes his face, jaw actually dropping. “Wait, really? I thought police officers hated psychics.”

“Well.” Chief Cowell shrugs. “I’m willing to pay you. We’ve got a few cases that we’ve been stumped on and could use a consultant. If you can prove yourself, this could be a regular thing. Are you interested?”

Harry weighs his options. On one hand, this is an interesting job and something he knows he could be actually decent at. His father has trained him well, trying to shape him into the perfect officer. On the other hand, he’d be lying to everyone and risk getting caught committing fraud. As unconventional as his past jobs may have been, he never had to commit fraud to get them done. He decides that the pros outweigh the cons, but can’t help but shake the uneasy feeling the washes over him.

“I’m interested.”

 

Harry walks through the office confidently, smiling at each of the workers he passes. He knows them all mildly well, frequently stopping by this office to steal Liam away for lunch. He reaches Liam’s office, not even bothering to knock before walking in. 

“I’ve got a job for us,” Harry says in lieu of greeting. He plops down in the chair across from Liam’s desk, propping his feet up. Liam scrunches his nose in disgust, pushing his feet back onto the floor.

“I’ve already got a job,” Liam says in reply. “One you’ve so rudely interrupted while I’m trying to do it.” Liam’s always been a bit of a party pooper, in Harry’s opinion. 

“You’re literally just scrolling through Facebook,” Harry says. “I can see it reflected in your readers.”

Liam rips off his glasses, huffy at being caught. Harry isn’t sure why he still tries; he catches him in his lies every single time. Liam can slip nothing by him.

“What do you want, H?” Liam sighs, leaning back in his chair in defeat. Harry isn’t planning on leaving until Liam agrees to come work with him. “Make it quick, I actually do have a meeting in thirty.”

Harry laughs quietly at this, trying to keep it under his breath. “I saw your calendar, dude. You are  _ technically _ free for the rest of the day. However, you do have to help me with this job I got us.”

Liam curses loudly. Harry wonders if he’ll finally do something smart like write fake meetings on his calendar. Or just stop giving Harry access to his calendar altogether. 

“Harry, I really do not have time for this,” Liam tries again. “Just because I have no meetings doesn’t mean I don’t have a lot of work to be doing.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He knows Liam’s going to give in, eventually, but it would nice if he could just make it easier on the both of them. “That’s why you were scrolling through Facebook, got it. C’mon Liam, the police have hired us for a case. A few cases, actually.”

Liam’s whole body freezes. “And why would the police have done that, Harry?” Harry continues to grin at him, teeth exposed. He watches as Liam takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Harry, what have you done?”

“I’m a psychic,” Harry says in way of explanation. This does nothing to calm Liam’s nerves as he takes another deep breath, this one shakier. “And they want me to work on some cases for them. But I’ll need your help.”

“You’ve really gone and fucked some shit up, haven’t you?” is all Liam says as he stands up and grabs his suit jacket. Harry fist pumps and follows him out of the office, already excitedly filling him in on all the details. 

 

It’s been three days since Chief Cowell had hired Harry on to give a fresh perspective on a few cases. He’s looked over three, easily solving the first two just by reading the files. They had all been amazed at his ability to “feel the spirit world” without visiting the crime scene or talking to any witnesses. Zayn remains the only one skeptical of him. 

Zayn also hates Harry. For, like, good reason. 

Harry had gone and revealed his and Detective Edward’s secret relationship, exposing that they had broken one of the biggest rules in the station. No dating your partner. Detective Edwards had been transferred the next day. 

So yeah. A rocky start on Harry and Zayn’s friendship, but he knew he’d wear Zayn down eventually. They’d be besties by the end of his time at the station, he could just tell. He  _ is _ psychic, after all. 

Zayn’s new partner is set to start their first day today, the same day Harry is coming in to review the last case file he’s been hired on for. He expects someone just like Zayn; cold, a brown noser, and everything Harry has come to hate about the force. 

Before heading into the station he stops at his favorite diner for a comfort breakfast, fried potatoes and the fluffiest pancakes in town. He’s been coming here since he was younger, when his dad would make him close his eyes and give him an impromptu quiz on the patrons. He greets everyone by name, and chooses to sit at the bar instead of his favorite booth by the window. 

Harry doesn’t even have to order, his favorite server already having sent it back to the kitchen. He smiles gratefully as they set down a glass of orange juice and mug of coffee in front of him. Having made his presence known, he decides to head to the bathroom, but when he returns he finds his seat has been taken. 

Overcoming the outrage that someone has blatantly ignored Harry’s beverages sitting there, he can’t stop himself from taking in the details of the seat thief. It’s second nature by now, to study every aspect of every person he comes in contact with, but he doesn’t mind this time. 

The boy, the  _ man _ , who has stolen his seat is slouched awkwardly, piercing blue eyes darting around the room as if he’s waiting for someone. Harry can’t tell if he’s frazzled or his hair is really supposed to be swept that way, but either way it works for him. He’s dressed smartly, white button down tucked into black dress pants, and there’s a red tie dangling loosely from his neck, as if he’s just coming from a long day’s work despite it being nine in the morning. Harry wonders what his deal is. 

He walks right up the man, perched tensely on the stool despite his initial slouching appearance. The man barely spares Harry a glance, looking right over his shoulder towards the doorway.

“You’re in my seat,” Harry says, taking the stool next to the man. He reaches over in front of him and grabs his two drinks, sipping his orange juice as the stranger finally turns to make eye contact with him. “That’s incredibly rude of you.”

The man rolls his eyes, picking up the book in front of him and opening it to a random page. Harry doesn’t want to call him out on his bluff, but he’s even holding the book upside down. Harry tells him so, which earns him another eye roll.

“Hey, buddy,” the man says, entirely too condescendingly for Harry’s liking. “I’m a little busy and I really can’t talk right now. I’m sorry you’re some kind of weirdo who has to sit in the same seat every day, but I got here first.”

Harry leans back as if he’s just been hit in the face. The man’s voice is high-pitched, like a bell, and it wraps around Harry and becomes the only thing he can hear in the whole diner. It takes him a moment to realize that the man is using his pretty voice to say such ugly words.

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, giving the man a second chance. “I’m not quite sure I understand you.”

The man scoffs, setting the book down, not even bothering to bookmark his page. “You definitely heard me, Curly. I do not have time for this. You can have your seat back tomorrow.”

Harry narrows his eyes, watching as the man flicks a piece of his fringe off of his face. “I meant I was sitting there as in I really was sitting there and I went to the bathroom and while I was peeing you took my seat. My juice and coffee were even sitting right there.”

The man has the decency to look sheepish, at least, shoulders slumping a little farther. “Oh, oops. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I guess I was in my own little world.”

Harry smiles his warmest smile, hoping it’ll calm some of the man’s nerves. “Don’t worry about it. First day at a new job?”

The man’s eyes widen, jaw slackening. “How could you tell?”

“I’m perceptive,” Harry replies easily, tapping his temple with his index finger. “I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you.” 

He reaches out his hand and the man shakes it. “I’m Louis. It’s nice to meet you, but I really was serious about not being able to talk.”

“Then I’ll do the talking for us, I guess,” Harry says. “Go on a date with me? Your silence tells me that’s a yes. I’m going to assume your favorite food is Italian. I know this beautiful hole in the wall place just fifteen minutes from here where we could meet. I actually know the owner, so we don’t need to worry, we’ll definitely get a table. Free tonight? Good. See you at seven.”

Louis opens his mouth as if he’s going to reply before he sees something over Harry’s shoulder. His face tenses and he reaches into his bag, a worn one Harry had just barely taken note of when he sat down. “Do me a favor, Harry? Duck.”

Harry doesn’t think twice, ducking underneath the counter as Louis pulls out a gun and points it at the doorway. Harry had noticed a bald man walk in earlier, in the way he can’t help but notice everything, but can’t be sure why Louis would be pointing a gun at him.

“SBPD!” Louis is shouting, hands shaking where he holds his gun. It finally clicks in Harry’s head and he curses himself for not picking it all up earlier, the signs so obvious. Louis is Zayn’s new partner, and he’s here on a stakeout that Harry had overheard Zayn talking about yesterday. He was so into flirting with Louis he let himself stop paying such close attention. His dad always used to get on him for being distracted so easily. 

Zayn comes bursting in the door, pulling out handcuffs as the guy looks around wildly. He seems to be in shock about the whole situation, unsure how grabbing his morning coffee has led to all of this. Harry feels the same way.

Harry straightens up, catching Zayn’s eye and throwing him a wink. Zayn grimaces and leads the man out of the diner. Harry thinks they’re making real progress.

“You must be Detective Tomlinson, then?” Harry asks, although he knows the answer.

Louis nods, face in awe. “And you are? I feel like you’ve been one step ahead of me this entire conversation.”

“I’m Santa Barbara’s head psychic, baby,” Harry says cockily, throwing Louis a lopsided smirk. Louis’ lips immediately press into a thin line.

“You can forget about that date, pal,” is all Louis says as he grabs his bag and struts out. Harry barely registers the words as he watches Louis leave, watches the way his pants cling to him in all the right places. Sometimes it pays to be observant.

 

Harry casually walks into the station about thirty minutes later, having only been mildly delayed by the scene at the diner. Liam is waiting in the lobby, bouncing his knee anxiously as a man in handcuffs attempts to make conversation with him. He jumps up from his seat when he sees Harry enter.

“Oh thank God!” Liam sighs, relieved. “I thought I was going to be trapped there forever, listening to him talk about how he definitely did not kidnap those cats. I don’t believe him.”

Harry chuckles, making his way towards the chief’s office. Liam strolls behind him, going on and on about how that man had to have kidnapped those cats and more when Harry stops, catching eye of Louis sitting at his desk and typing away at his computer. He appears to be actually working, from what Harry can tell, which is more than can be said for the others in the room, obviously scrolling through social media.

Liam goes quiet, apparently catching on to the fact that Harry isn’t even pretending to listen. “What are you focused on? The new guy?”

Harry licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. He’s, uh. Something else.”

“He’s pretty, yeah,” Liam agrees. “Think we’ll work with him much?”

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “I met him this morning in the middle of a stakeout. He was kind of a dick. I loved it.”

“That’s your type,” Liam says quietly. Harry turns around indignantly. 

“One, I do not have a type. Two, if I did have a type, it would not be someone who’s a fucking asshole to me.” He spins back around, crossing his arms over his chest. He can make out from the corner of his eye that the chief is waving them into his office through the window. Harry stalks off, leaving Liam there preparing to make his case. Liam shuts his mouth and follows closely behind.

Harry and Liam enter the chief’s office, Liam softly shutting the door behind him. Harry would think he was just being polite if he didn’t see the way Liam was nervously shaking and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He’s still afraid they’re going to get caught and he’ll, like, go to jail. As if Harry would ever let them go to jail. They could live their lives on the run. It’d be fun, he thinks.

“Yes, Chief?” Harry asks, trying to give the appearance of innocence. He’s been told before that he’s got too much of a wicked look in his eyes to be trustworthy. 

“I just wanted to say good work on those cases,” Chief Cowell says, closing a file on his desk. Harry can see from the writing that it’s the third case he’s been assigned to solve. “I reached out to your father, Mr. Styles.”

Harry’s heart drops to his stomach. He tries to keep his expression calm, as if that’s a perfectly normal thing for the chief to have done. As if he hasn’t just gone and disrupted Harry’s life. 

“Oh, did you?” Harry asks pleasantly. Liam winces next to him, hands clasped in front of his body, preparing for the worst. 

“How long would you say you’ve had your abilities, Mr. Styles?” the chief inquires. Harry knows this is some sort of test. He’s just looking for Harry to slip up, make one mistake. He wonders what his dad said about him. 

“I think all my life, sir,” Harry answers. He opts for being as honest as possible. “I think I didn’t notice them until I was older, around twelve. My parents had always said I was a more observant child, though.”

Chief Cowell folds his hands on his desk, settling them on top of the manilla file. Harry is itching to get his hands on it, open it up and solve another puzzle. He wonders if he’ll get to do that now.

“I asked your father when you developed your abilities,” the chief starts. Harry tenses and he knows Liam is ready to pass out beside him. He knows this can’t end well for either of them. He had been mostly joking before, when he said they would have to live on the run, but it’s beginning to look like they might actually have to. “He said he noticed them when you were sixteen, but he guesses it could have been earlier.”

Harry can feel his jaw drop, unable to keep his expression neutral. “He what, now?”

The chief raises one eyebrow. “Surprised?”

Harry fixes his face quickly. Liam is still tense beside him, braced for the worst. Harry wishes he could reach over and soothe him without it looking suspicious. “No, sir. Did he say how Florida is?”

The chief can’t help the way his facial muscles move, as if someone reached out to slap him and he’s flinching back. “Florida? He’s here in Santa Barbara. He came in for a meeting this morning.”

Harry feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

His own father, who he had assumed had been living in Florida for the past three years, was back. Had it really been that long since they’d talked? He couldn’t remember the last time they had been in the same room, let alone spoke on the phone. Harry blames his father for the reason his life has turned out the way it has, unable to hold a job and feeling like a freak. 

“Mr. Styles, were you unaware that your father was here in town?” the chief asks, sitting back in his chair. Normally, Harry would be able to read his expressions, his mannerisms, and diffuse whatever situation may be blooming, but now all he can is fight to breathe evenly. “That leads me to believe he’s probably not lying for you.”

Harry shakes his head. “My father would never lie for me. He’s always done everything by the book.”

“So I’ve heard the stories. You should have mentioned he used to work here.” The chief stands, coming around his desk and leaning on it, arms crossed over his chest. He stays quiet for a few seconds before going on, “He solved the third case for you. Looked at the files and figured out what we were overlooking. Incredible, isn’t it? How a normal guy can just look at a few pages and solve everything?”

Harry feels his jaw clench reflexively. “Yeah, he’s incredible. I’ve always looked up to him.”

“I’ve decided to hire you on, Mr. Styles.” The good news doesn’t make Harry feel any better. He can feel that it hasn’t done much to help Liam, either. Harry had almost forgot he was standing there. “You too, Mr. Payne. You seem to work well together. It’s a nice dynamic we don’t get too often around here.”

“Thank you sir,” Liam says to the compliment. He sets a hand on Harry’s back, steadying the both of them. “Is that all?”

The chief nods, effectively ending their conversation. Liam leads Harry out as the blood pounds in his head. He can’t hear anyone, shaking and having trouble breathing. Liam is whispering something is his ear, but he can’t focus enough to discern the words. His father has always been the piece that shakes him and keeps him from finding his balance. 

“Hey, are you okay?” an unfamiliar voice pierces through the static in Harry’s head. He looks up and meets bright blue eyes, wide with concern. “Liam left to go get you some water and you’ve just been staring at the ground. I was getting kind of worried.” 

Harry realizes he’s somehow moved to one of the benches, sitting down and looking straight ahead. He looks past Louis’ shoulder in search of Liam, who is on his way back with a cup of water. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks,” Harry says quietly. “Just shaken, I guess. Don’t worry about it.”

Louis shakes his head. “Can’t help but worry. Let me know if you need anything.” He sets a steady hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing twice before dropping it. He looks reluctant to leave but finally turns away, sitting back at his desk. 

“Feel better?” Liam asks as he sits down next to Harry. “You didn’t even try and flirt with Louis.”

Harry takes the water handed to him, gulping it down. “Yeah, I’m good. Like I was telling Louis, I’m just shaken. I don’t know if I should call him.”

Liam stays quiet for a beat, biting his lip as he thinks over his words.

“Maybe not today.”

They stay silent for a few moments, watching the station in front of them. Louis is working diligently at his desk, typing furiously and flipping through stacks of paper. Niall is flicking paper balls at Zayn’s head, distracting him from getting any work done. Zayn doesn’t quite look annoyed, though. 

“Want to go ruin Zayn’s mood and let him know they’re officially hiring me?” Harry asks, standing up and looking down at Liam. He stands up, grinning wickedly.

“I would love nothing more.”

They break the news to Zayn together, speaking loudly enough that Louis and Niall can hear them. Zayn breaks the pencil in his hand in hand and Niall yells a cheer loud enough that the whole station stops working for about fifteen seconds. Except for Louis. Louis keeps typing, never bothering to look in Harry’s direction.

Liam had been right; Louis is exactly Harry’s type. 

  
  


Harry solves four cases in a row. The first had been an easy string of break-ins, followed by two kidnappings, and one case of murder. Liam hasn’t relaxed any, despite Harry proving case after case that he could handle this. He didn’t seem very reassured when Harry had said, “The only way they’ll find out I’m faking it is if I tell them, and I’m not going to tell them. Stop worrying.”

It’s been a few weeks since he’d become the head psychic of the police department (and the only psychic, technically, as Zayn had made sure to point out). Everyone has warmed up to him, except for Louis and Zayn. They’re different in the way that they act around him. Zayn can’t stand Harry and makes it known every chance he can get. He’s always sneering and rolling his eyes and Harry tells him every time that his face is going to get stuck like that. This only prompts another eyeroll.

Louis is different in the way he hasn't warmed up. He avoids eye contact and won’t ever start a conversation himself. Harry finds all of their interactions completely one-sided and it does nothing to help settle his crush. The more Louis ignores him, the more he wants to grab his attention. He can’t seem to help himself.

The first time Louis starts up a conversation with Harry, unprompted, Harry chokes on the water he’s drinking.

Niall doubles over laughing, mocking the face Harry had made, and Louis pats him on the back as he coughs and sputters. Any chance Harry had at seeming cool have obviously passed as Louis bites his lip to hold back his smile.

“Alright?” Louis asks, taking his hand away from Harry’s back. Harry almost starts pretending to choke again just so Louis will touch him. It’s pathetic, really, but he can’t seem to stop himself. He almost doesn’t mind being pathetic if Louis is the reason. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Harry puffs out his chest jokingly. “You could never startle me, I’m tough as nails.”

Louis chuckles, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching adorably. Harry isn’t sure he’s seen Louis laugh before, not once in the weeks they’ve been working together. He makes a note to make it happen more often. 

“I guess you are the tough one,” Louis says, voice airy; Harry loves the lightness to his tone. “Liam’s the one who seems to be shaking all the time, like a damn chihuahua.” 

Harry snorts, covering his mouth with his hand. He’s always been self-conscious of his laugh, but it’s so much worse watching the way Louis’ eyes light up as he realizes Harry is a snorter. 

“Nice laugh,” Louis says teasingly, turning and walking away from Harry, leaving him standing there with his hand clapped over his mouth like a weirdo. 

“You’re a goner,” Niall mumbles next to him, flicking his eyes between Harry and Louis’ retreating figure. “A god damn lost cause.”

“Is it that obvious?” Harry asks, worrying at his bottom lip. It’s a nervous habit he thought he had kicked years ago. “Maybe I should ask him out.”

Niall throws his head back and laughs, not unusual for the man. Harry’s unsure if he’s ever  _ not _ laughing. Except this time he’s not sure it’s entirely warranted. Is Louis really that out of his league?

“He follows the rules pretty strictly,” Niall says, seeing Harry’s affronted expression. “I guess when he and Zayn first met, he said that he wasn’t the type of person who slept with their partner.”

“I take it Zayn didn’t take that too well.” 

“Oh, of course not,” Niall answers with another laugh, quieter this time. “He got all offended, you know, in the way that Zayn does.”

“Yes, in the way that Zayn does,” Harry agrees, mumbling, not focused on anything Niall is saying longer. He’s more focused on the way Louis flicks his hair out of his face as he flips through the papers on his desk. He’s never seen someone more dedicated to the work they do. He kind of feels bad for wanting to be the reason Louis gets distracted and breaks the rules.

“Anyway, mate, I’ve got to get back to work before Zayn kills me himself,” Niall says, clapping Harry on the back and walking away, leaving him standing in the middle of the bustling police station. He probably looks weird, standing in the middle of everything and just staring at Louis, but.

But he can’t really help himself.

 

Harry can admit that things are going well for him.

Normally, by this point, he’d be itching in his skin, eager to get out and get a change of scenery. This is by the far the longest he’s ever willingly stayed at a job. He doesn’t think he ever wants to leave, actually, if he’s being honest with himself. 

He keeps busy, getting assigned about one case a week on average. People have started seeking his help out individually, skirting the police as the middleman. He and Liam rent out a small office space, signing a six month lease, and that is by far the most commitment Harry has ever made in his life. He wonders what his dad would say if he were watching. Probably nothing good.

While things professionally are going better than expected, even Liam relaxing the smallest amount, things romantically are going worse than before. 

He’s gone on about five or six dates since starting at the department, each going worse than the last. The first two he was able to pretend to be interested in, but by the fifth date he had run out of the energy to pretend. Everyone bores him, he learns. He wants someone who can keep him on his toes, quick witted and snarky.

He wants Louis.

Briefly, Harry wonders, if his desire for Louis is only made stronger by the fact that Louis barely gives him the time of day. He’s not necessarily cold or rude to Harry, he even sparks up conversations between them sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to be overly nice. Harry knows, realistically, no one owes him kindness, or anything, but. 

He’s seen the way Louis acts with everyone else in the department.

Louis goes out of his way to be nice to everyone, remembering their coffee orders and favorite baked goods. He knows what to say to soothe Liam’s anxiety, how to calm Zayn’s irritation, and how to keep Niall from breaking a window with his jittery energy. He’s so good with everyone, making them all laugh and without a doubt being the sunshine of everyone’s days.

He just doesn’t seem to have the time of day for Harry.

Harry’s trying his hardest not to let it bother him.

“Maybe he’s creeped out because you stare at him so much,” Liam tells him one day as they’re driving to a crime scene. Harry turns down the music to stare at him incredulously.

“I do not stare at him that much,” Harry protests, offended Liam would even suggest a thing. “I look at him the correct amount of time to let him know I’m interested, but not like, obsessed.”

“I don’t think you’re doing such a great job of that,” Liam says with a snort as he pulls up in front of the house. They park on the street and climb out, walking up to the house. Niall greets them as they walk up, lifting the crime scene tape and letting them through. There’s more reporters than normal, standing around and being obnoxious, and Harry barely spares a moment to wonder what that’s about.

He is going to protest, saying his relationship with Louis is super cool and casual, when they come up to the man himself. He’s staring down at the ground, looking mildly grossed out and equally puzzled. Harry and Liam follow his gaze down, eyeing the body laying there. 

It’s a woman, petite and blonde and blue in the face. There’s no blood anywhere, but there are fingerprint shaped bruises around her neck. It’s a violently personal crime, Harry observes, feeling mildly queasy. No matter how often he sees crime scenes, they always throw him a little off balance.

“How long has she been dead?” Harry asks, anything to break the silence around them as they all stare at the ground. 

“Unsure,” Louis answers shortly. He looks up at Harry, narrowing his eyes. “Would you be able to tell?”

Harry snaps his head up. “Maybe. I’ll need a few things.”

“Like?”

“An article of clothing from you, preferably an undergarment,” Harry says confidently. If he says it fast enough, maybe it’ll actually slip past Louis.

Louis is quick on his feet, though. “Don’t you normally need something like that from the victim? Why would you need it from me?”

“I’ve seen it both ways,” Harry answers cheekily, throwing Louis a tentative half smile. Louis timidly smiles back, rolling his eyes and walking away with his hands in his pockets. Harry thinks that’s one of their better interactions.

“He could not like you because you hit on him,” Liam pipes in helpfully from beside him. 

Harry pinches him on the nipple.

 

Harry is going through the case file, having talked to the family members earlier in the day. They had discovered that the woman killed was someone Harry had actually been able to save when he had first been hired. She had been held for ransom, hours from being killed by her kidnappers, when Harry had a “vision” that saved her life. He remembers how her family had cried so thankfully then, but cried so broken hearted today when Harry interviewed them. 

He has no leads, which is rare for him.

Her original kidnappers are behind bars, as is everyone else involved in her kidnapping. Her family is way too upset to have done it. Her dad is basically useless, unable to answer even the most basic of questions. Harry can’t even imagine how it must feel to lose your daughter, get her back, then lose her again. 

He reads the words until he’s dizzy, the black ink blurring into one another. He feels too determined and energized to give up, though. Just as he really thinks he’s moments from having a breakthrough, a hand claps him on the shoulder.

Looking up to see who’s disturbed him, Harry realizes he’s actually still at the police station instead of going home to look over the file. Louis is standing over him, looking tired, bags set deep under his eyes.

“You look how I feel,” Harry says, setting the files down on the table in front of him. He doesn’t technically have a desk at the station, but they always clear the same table for him. 

“ _ You _ look how I feel,” Louis retorts. “And how I must look, apparently.” He’s still just standing over Harry’s shoulder. He’s wondering if Louis is actually going to say something, if there was a point to him coming over and disrupting his thought processes.

“Can I help you?” Harry asks, not meaning for it to come out as snarky as it does. Louis takes a step back, face looking as if he’s been slapped.

“Oh, whoa, calm down.” Louis holds both hands up, palm outwards in a peace offering. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get some coffee. There’s a twenty-four hour diner down the street. We could get coffee, think about something else for a minute, then come back with clear heads. It’s obvious you’re not going to let this go.”

Harry nods, rubbing at his eyes. “That’s probably a good idea, actually. Thanks.” He throws Louis what he hopes is a grateful smile, but is likely more of a grimace.

They walk to the diner in silence, not much noise happening in the city around them in the middle of the night. It’s fitting, the lack of noise, for how they’re both feeling. This case feels more personal, more intense, because of their history with it. It’s hitting them all a lot harder.

When they reach the diner, the only waitress in there let’s them know they can seat themselves and she’ll be right with them. Louis leads them both to a booth in the corner, next to a large window overlooking the parking lot. They sit down opposite one another, neither of them reaching for menus.

“Does it get easier?” Harry breaks the silence.

Louis shrugs, leaning back against the seat. “I don’t think so. Some cases hit harder than others, obviously, but it’s never  _ easy _ .”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers wistfully. “I can’t remember my dad ever seeming affected by a case. He always came home the same man he was when he left.” Harry isn’t sure why he’s admitting to it; why this has anything to do with what’s happening.

“It’s okay to be affected, Harry,” Louis voices softly. He reaches over the table and wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist, squeezing once before letting it drop. He does it so fast Harry wonders if he imagined it. “It’s weirder if you do this day in and day out and you  _ aren’t _ affected by it. It’s more likely it did affect your dad and he didn’t know how to handle it.”

Harry looks out the window. There’s no cars parked in the lot and there’s not much of a view, but it’s easier than looking at Louis. He feels too vulnerable, in a way he isn’t sure he’s ever felt before. It’s weird, to feel like this around someone he met mere weeks ago.

“Sometimes I think I should call him,” he admits. The words hang in the air between them, Harry staring out the window and Louis staring at him. “I don’t think he wants me to, though.”

Harry isn’t sure if Louis is going to answer, has anything to say, because the waitress comes up and breaks up the tension between them. She pulls out a notepad, flipping her pen through the air as she asks for their orders. Louis and Harry both order coffee; Louis asks if she’ll leave the pot and she agrees easily. 

“And to eat?” she asks them, tip of her pen to the paper as she waits for them to spell out their orders. Harry isn’t even sure what they serve here, or if he’s even hungry. 

“Just give us both the ‘Early Riser.’ Eggs over easy, please,” Louis orders for them, sliding their unopened menus to the edge of the table. If she notices anything weird, she doesn’t say, just shuts her books and grabs the menus and walks away, shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Harry finally looks at Louis, slouching back against the seat. The vinyl is cool against his back, the type of material that would cling to any exposed skin. It reminds him of a similar one he and his dad went to when he was younger, where his dad would make him pass tests before he could order a slice of pie.

“You should be proud of yourself, Harry.” Louis breaks the silence, pulling out two packets of sugar from the caddy as the waitress approaches their table with their mugs and a pot. She sets them down with shaky hands before scurrying away. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Harry says with a small smile. He takes a sip of his coffee, the bitter liquid burning his tongue. “I know I didn’t have a conventional childhood and I don’t live a conventional life, but. I think I’m happy.”

Louis hums, stirring the coffee in his cup. He’s poured the sugar packets and half the container of creamer into his cup, the coffee a light tan color compared to the black in Harry’s cup.

“That’s not even coffee, anymore,” Harry teases him. “Might as well just drink sugar.”

“I would if it were acceptable,” Louis declares with a delicate smile. Harry finds a lot of things about Louis to be delicate. He’s got the sharpest cheekbones, but Harry finds them dainty and cute as opposed to intimidating.

They don’t say anything else until their food arrives, going through the whole pot of coffee and half of another one before they finish. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, but more like they’re in their own little world in the back corner of a diner where nothing can disrupt them.

In the middle of the night, no cars in the parking lot and no other people in the diner, it almost feels like it. Like they’re untouchable.

 

Less than twelve hours after Harry and Louis had left the diner, another murder is called in. At first, no one connects this murder with the last. There’s plenty of murders in Santa Barbara. It’s quite literally one of the biggest murder capitals of the United States. Two murders within a number of days of each other doesn’t raise that many eyebrows. 

It’s Louis who seems to connect the dots first. The M.O. is almost exactly the same and the victim is a young man who Harry had also saved.

When Harry hears this, he throws up for twenty minutes in the men’s bathroom, Liam rubbing circles into his back. Harry is somehow the one who’s falling apart during this, Liam doing his best to hold him together and not let his own nerves show. Harry can’t help but feel like he’s being attacked. As if this killer is going directly for him. Liam tells him that he’s being crazy; that this is all just some crazy coincidence.

Harry lets himself believe that for a week. He dives head first into work, visiting both crime scenes numerous times. He interviews the families for as long as they’ll let him, both him and the families near tears in frustration. 

Niall is pitying, Louis doesn’t say anything, and Zayn is vicious.

“Shouldn’t you have seen the answer?” he mocks one day when they’re all in the break room. Louis’ shoulders tense from across the room, coffee cup halfway to his lips. Liam looks like he’s stopped breathing. “Since you’re  _ psychic _ and all.”

“Hey, Zayn,” Niall mumbles, almost a warning. “Not cool.”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut and turns from the room. He doesn’t have to listen to this. Zayn may be right, but it still hurts. He collapses at the bench in the lobby. Luckily, there’s no one in handcuffs sitting on it this time. Within thirty seconds, Louis is sitting down next to him.

“Don’t mind him,” Louis says, timid as if he’s talking to a spooked animal. “He wishes he were half as talented as you.”

“Do you think I’m a fraud, too?” Harry asks. He’s not sure what he hopes to gain from it. He’s not sure if he’s able to handle Louis’ answer. 

Louis stares down at the ground, kicking a pebble that’s made its way inside. “Does it matter what I think?”

“Maybe not,” Harry answers. “You seem to be the realest one with me. Niall can act too starstruck and Zayn’s a dick.”

He hears a snort from beside him. “Zayn’s not so bad all the time. But yeah. He can be a dick. Maybe one day he’ll open up to you.”

“I doubt it.”

“I would too, honestly,” Louis laughs. “He really doesn’t seem to like you.” He pauses for a breath. “He likes Liam, though.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at that. He actually hadn’t picked up on that. Maybe he was losing his touch. “Interesting.”

“You didn’t hear it from me,” Louis says, pretend serious. Harry mimes zipping his lips, throwing away the key. “We should get back to work, yeah?” He stands, turning and offering a hand to help Harry up. 

Not even thirty minutes later, another body is discovered. The connection to the other two murders is immediate. The first thing Louis looks into is whether the victim has been saved by Harry. He has. Had.

Harry manages not to throw up this time, Liam grabbing his hand and squeezing until they both lose feeling in their fingers. Harry is starting to think he may be in over his head. They all drive to the crime scene, Harry riding with Liam like always. It’s silent for the short ride; Liam doesn’t even put on the radio or play his dumb classical music. Harry doesn’t try to take over the aux cord and play his indie bands no one has heard of.

Arriving at the crime scene is another gut punch. The victim has been killed the same way as the other two. It’s extremely personal, fingerprint bruises around their neck. Liam goes pale immediately upon seeing the body, slumped in the armchair in the study. 

“There’s a gift for you, Styles,” Zayn says, voice tight. “Nobody’s touched it yet.”

“A gift?” Harry’s throat closes, mouth going dry. He spots it; the white envelope lays on the desk in the middle of the room. Zayn wordlessly hands him a pair of gloves to put on, looking less mean and more scared. Harry can relate; he’s terrified for what could be in that envelope. He grips the envelope with nervous fingers, slipping it open. It isn’t sealed and Harry slides out the paper within. It’s written on non threatening pink stationary, but the words themselves stop Harry’s blood in his veins.

_ I know. I won’t stop until they know, too _ .


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm posting this a day early because waiting another twenty-four hours would have been the worst. which means i probably won't be able to wait a whole week to post chapter three and i'll end up posting it early as well.  
>   
> as always, you're welcome to message me or be my friend at my [tumblr](http://microlouis.tumblr.com/)

Harry is obviously shaken after the note left for him. It’s been almost two weeks, twelve days exactly, since it was left for him at the crime scene. There’s been no murders since then, but they’re all on the edge of their seats, waiting. The only connection between all three victims is the way they had been killed and the fact that Harry had once saved their lives.

It’s not a comforting thought. To know that the handful of people Harry’s already managed to save in his time working with the police are in danger. The police have reached out to some of the families that Harry has helped to warn them, offering up twenty-four seven security. 

Nobody’s had a good night’s sleep in twelve days. Even Niall seems to have dulled, bags set under his eyes and jumping at the slightest of noises. They’re all ready to explode at a moment’s notice.

Harry and Liam have also been affected in a different way than the others. While obviously it’s personal because this person is going after people Harry has saved, they also seem to know Harry’s secret. He’s not too concerned about that part, how much a madman  _ actually _  knows, but Liam is panicking every second they have to sit down. He’s always breathing rapidly and appearing vaguely sweaty. Harry had told him a couple of days ago that his appearance alone would give them away.

Liam only gets worse as the days go on and they receive no word. 

He’s sitting at Harry’s unofficial desk, the random table they always keep cleared for him, flipping through the same files. It’s clear he’s flipping too fast to actually be reading the pages in front of him. Harry takes a seat next to him, setting down mugs of warm tea for both of them. 

“Li, you’ve got to calm down,” Harry says quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “Freaking out does no good. In fact, it might actually be making your brain  _ more _ muddled. Then you could be overlooking even the obvious things.”

Liam sighs heavily, banging his head down against the table loudly. Louis and Zayn look up at the sound from across the room, glancing away when they see it’s only Liam having a breakdown. The normal things, really. 

“I can’t help it,” he admits against the table. “I’m just so stressed out. I don’t want to go to jail. You know I wouldn’t survive.”

“You know we would just go on the run,” Harry tells him, reaching over and rubbing a soothing hand along his back. “As if I would ever let you go to jail. I’d take full blame. I’d say you had no idea that I was a fraud.”

Liam snorts and lifts his head. “Do you think they’d believe it?”

Harry offers him a tentative smile. “Of course. You’re just ditzy enough.”

“Fuck off, H,” Liam says, but there’s no malice in his tone. He offers a not-quite-there smile in return. It doesn’t reach his eyes and falls immediately from his face. “For real, though. What are you going to do? Shouldn’t you be picking up psychic vibes?”

This time it’s Harry who slams his head against the table and sighs. Louis and Zayn don’t bother a glance up this time, obviously unconcerned, their attention on bigger things. 

“I don’t know,” Harry breathes into the cool wood. His breath hangs warmly in his face, fogging up on the table before dispersing. “I  _ genuinely _ have no idea.”

“Maybe you should call your dad?” Liam suggests. Harry tilts his head sideways to glare at Liam. “I think he would know what to do.”

“All he’d do is yell at me for getting into his mess in the first place. Take your stupid idea and shove it up your asshole.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” comes a voice from over Harry’s shoulder. He picks his head up rapidly, instantly recognizing the bell-like voice. He nearly breaks his neck trying to turn to look at Louis.

“You’re right,” Liam agrees. “He’s never very nice to me, now that I’m thinking about it.”

Louis chuckles softly and places a hand delicately on Harry’s shoulder. Harry tries not to make it obvious how quickly his body tenses underneath Louis’ hand, suddenly forgetting how to breathe. Louis doesn’t appear to be lifting his hand, resting it there while he address Liam.

“He should really work on that, yeah?” Louis teases, punctuating his sentence with a squeeze to Harry’s shoulder. Just as Harry thinks he gets his breathing under control, it catches in his throat. “How long have you guys been working without a break?”

Harry doesn’t seem to be understanding the concept of time, currently. He isn’t sure how long he and Liam have been sitting there, making absolutely no progress towards the case. Luckily, Liam jumps in.

“I’ve been sitting here forever, but Harry’s just joined me,” he says. “Harry’s always been such a slacker.”

Louis throws his head back and laughs, honest and full and awakening the butterflies in Harry’s stomach. “I believe that. Do you guys want to call it a night? We can go for dinner, maybe focus on something more positive for the evening.”

“I’d honestly love that,” Harry says earnestly. Louis gives his shoulder one last squeeze before releasing him. Harry misses the touch immediately, something he isn’t incredibly proud of. Since Louis has started treating him the same way he treats everyone else, Harry has grown attached. He finds himself yearning to tell Louis good news and bad news and all of his horrible jokes.

“Let me go get the others, then we’ll go?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before skipping over to Zayn’s desk. Niall is perched on it and flicking rubber bands into Zayn’s face. Zayn doesn’t appear to mind. Harry wonders how Zayn is so soft with Niall, so funny with Louis, and so flirtatious with Liam, but seems to hate Harry so much. He hasn’t really done  _ that _ much to the poor man.

Louis says something and then points to where Liam and Harry are sitting and watching the exchange. Harry offers a friendly wave, but Zayn just rolls his eyes back. Harry lowers his hand slowly, feeling mildly hurt. At first he hadn’t cared if anyone actually liked him, but now he’s learned how amazing most of the workers are. And if Louis and Niall liked Zayn, then he couldn’t be half bad.

Louis must convince Zayn that’s worth it to go grab dinner with them because he pushes his chair back loudly and grabs his jacket. Niall fist pumps into the air, following closely on Zayn and Louis’ heels as they walk back over to Harry and Liam.

“Keep up, Styles,” Zayn mumbles, brushing past the table and making his way towards the exit. Harry and Liam scramble to their feet, not even bothering to grab their jackets. They catch up with the trio easily. Harry falls into step with Louis, hanging back as Liam rushes to Zayn’s side. Niall floats between the two pairs, happy to engage in whatever conversation he can.

“Zayn thinks this is the biggest proof that you’re a fraud,” Louis whispers to Harry. Harry looks out of the corner of his eye at him, seeing that he is still looking forward. The wind is blowing his hair back away from his forehead and Harry wants to pepper his skin with kisses. 

“Does he now? And how do you feel?” Harry counters, glancing back at the trio in front of them. Niall is now hanging off of Liam like a monkey, pulling him down with an arm around his shoulder. Liam looks like he might actually be enjoying it; like he might be having a decent enough time.

“Doesn’t matter,” Louis answers cheekily. Harry looks at him from the corner of his eye again and finds Louis smiling widely, eyes crinkling. “Would what I say genuinely affect your actions? Like if I admitted that I was a nonbeliever, would you suddenly come clean with the truth?”

Harry falters in his steps, off-put by Louis’ response. “I suppose not.”

Louis stops completely, letting the trio gain further ground on them. He grabs Harry’s wrist lightly and stops him as well, spinning him around so they’re facing each other on the sidewalk. Harry can hear Niall’s laughter and Zayn’s grumbling grow quieter in the distance, his only focus on the way Louis is looking at him.

“I think you’re a smart guy, Harry.” Louis squeezes his wrist, using his free hand to push away the hair that’s fallen on his forehead. Harry chews at his lip nervously, palms sweating. “I think you might be in over your head, but nevertheless I think you’re smart. I don’t think you mean any harm. You did what you had to do to save yourself, and now you’re doing what you have to do to keep up appearances. Preservation and all that.” He drops Harry’s hand and continues walking as if nothing has happened.

“I’m just blocked, is all,” Harry jokes as they catch up to the group. Nobody seems to have noticed their absence for the short amount of time they were standing there. “The spirits don’t seem to want to talk to me.” Louis snorts and takes off running, jumping on Zayn’s back before Harry can say anything else.

“The spirits aren’t talking to you?” Niall asks, turning around and tripping over his feet. Liam and Zayn both reach out to steady him. 

Harry gapes his mouth, unsure of how to answer. “Yeah, I guess. That’s got to be what’s happening. They’ve never cut me off before, though.”

He hears Liam snorting, face tucked into the collar of his shirt. He doesn’t seem to be too concerned with getting caught when he’s laughing at Harry’s fumbling.

“Maybe we should get together later and look up how to unblock your connection!” Niall suggests eagerly. He trips over his feet again, but Zayn is still holding on and keeping him upright. Harry wonders how he manages to get anywhere without someone there to catch him from falling.

“I’d love that,” Harry says awkwardly. He isn’t sure how to say no to the man; he isn’t sure  _ anyone _ knows how to say no to Niall. “Maybe before work tomorrow, or something.” Niall cheers and pumps his fist into the air. Louis looks on and rolls his eyes, clearly amused. Even Zayn is smiling slightly. 

Harry counts it as progress.

 

“Do you think there’s anyone who could have wanted to hurt your daughter?” Louis asks quietly, reaching for the pack of tissues placed strategically at the edge of the desk. He hands them to the grieving mother. She accepts them gratefully, dabbing at her eyes. Louis and Harry are interviewing the third victim’s parents. They’ve set up within the living room, Harry and Louis on the couch and both of the parents in the armchairs across the room. 

The father bites his lower lip, eyebrow furrowing as he thinks. “I can’t imagine. She was so well liked. Isn’t that how it goes?”

Louis smiles softly. “Unfortunately, yes. Any spiteful exes?”

The woman shakes her head. “No, she’s only ever dated her current boyfriend, and he’s studying abroad in Italy at the moment. He’s been trying to get a flight home, but. Hopefully when he gets here, he can clarify anything we couldn’t.”

The sound of Louis’ pen as he writes down notes in his notebook is the only sound that fills the room besides the mother’s quiet crying. After a few moments he stops writing and closes the book, standing up. Harry follows suit, uncomfortable and desperate to leave. They hadn’t accomplished anything or found anything new, and grief always made him uncomfortable. He has no idea how to comfort anyone.

“I think that’s all we’ll need for now,” Louis says as he thanks the parents. The father claps him on the shoulder firmly and gives Harry a slight wave. The mother gives them both tight hugs and offers them one last cup of coffee before they go. They both decline and are back in Louis’ car in a matter of minutes.

“Does that ever get easier?” Harry asks. He finds himself experiencing deja vu, back to the diner in the middle of the night where he’d asked the same question.

“No, definitely not.” Louis starts the car, pulling from the driveway. He turns down the music playing on the radio, some new pop song that had been released this week. Harry plays with one of the rings on his finger, twirling it over and over as he tries to think of something to say.

“I feel guilty,” is what he settles on.

“Me too,” Louis answers. They don’t say anything for the rest of the drive back to the station, the sound of the radio all that fills the car. Lately, Harry finds himself with less and less to say. As more time goes on, he worries another body will show up or they’ll just be too stuck to go anywhere else. The latter option is looking more likely with each passing day. 

Not even moments after Harry has this thought, moments after arriving back at the station, do they get called into the chief’s office. Zayn and Liam are already there, distressed looks on their faces. The chief is sitting in his chair, hands clasped on the desk in front of him. Louis and Harry scurry in, shutting the door quickly behind them.

“There’s been another murder,” the chief says solemnly. “And another note left for you, Mr. Styles.”

“Oh.” Harry feels his stomach sinking to the ground underneath him. Just as he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stand on his own any longer, Louis reaches out and links their pinkies together. Instantly, Harry feels grounded and takes a deep breath. “What did it say?”

“It called you out for being a fraud,” the chief says, as if this isn’t at all earth-shattering and life-ruining. 

Louis gives a tug on their interlocked pinkies and Harry finds the air to respond. “Is that it?”

“They gave some compelling arguments for their case.” Chief Cowell stands, walking around the side of the desk and seating himself on the corner. He crosses his arms over his chest and Harry has never felt more intimidated. “So we did some digging.”

“Digging?”

“Every case you’ve solved has been solved by an overlooked detail,” the chief starts. “Something we’ve missed. No mind-blowing vision necessary; just a more careful look over the crime scene usually does it. Or a careful inspection of a family member’s home.”

“You’re going to believe a murderer’s note over my word?” Harry asks. He tries to sound incredulous but mostly sounds terrified. He can’t even imagine Liam’s face right now, or how he’s feeling. 

Chief Cowell shrugs. “It would save us some money.”

Harry feels Louis stiffen next to him. Louis had never expressed his distaste for the chief, none of them ever had, but it was obvious in most of their interactions. Harry wonders if Louis is mad because Harry’s finally being exposed, or because it’s the chief doing the exposing.

“Well, I guess I’ll grab my bag and be on the way,” is all Harry can think of to say. Louis still has an iron grip on his pinky though, not letting go.

“What about a polygraph?” Louis suggests, voice loud and words rushed. “If he can just prove himself?”

The chief furrows his eyebrows and leans back, as if he idea is preposterous. “A polygraph? Those things don’t  _ actually _ work.”

Louis rolls his eyes, sighing in frustration. “Yeah, but. If there’s even a doubt that Harry is the real deal, he should stay. His help has been invaluable, either way. You can’t deny that.”

Chief Cowell looks as though he’s thinking it over, lips thin and eyes narrowing. “Fine. A polygraph. But only because you’ve got connections through your father, Mr. Styles. Otherwise, I’d never give you a second chance.”

Harry lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

“Tomorrow morning,” the chief says sternly. “Now go check out the crime scene. I don’t want any more murders on my hands.”

 

The fourth murder is just like the first three, strangled and the victim someone Harry had previously saved. They find no more evidence at the scene than they had at any of the other crime scenes and after taking photos and brief interviews with the families, everyone decides to call it a night. It’s been a long day for all of them.

Harry is thankful he can finally go home. He doesn’t necessarily want to go to bed, but he doesn’t want to be around the others any longer. He had expected Zayn to be smug, but instead he almost looks worried and that feels worse, somehow. Niall is obviously pitying and Liam looks like he’s going to pee himself. Louis hasn’t said a word to him or looked in his direction since they left the chief’s office earlier in the evening.

Liam offers to drive him back to the station, but Harry declines, claiming the fresh air will help his headache. In reality, he just wants the space to think and reflect without Liam’s wide, caring eyes and inevitably concerned words. He stands at the end of the driveway, watching Liam pull off with Zayn in the passenger seat and Niall in the back. 

Louis finally exits the house as Harry begins walking away, having stayed later to thank the family again for answering their questions. Harry kicks at the ground as he walks, basically dragging his feet. He hadn’t necessarily felt like talking to anyone earlier, but Louis doesn’t really fall into the category of just  _ anyone _ . He’s half hoping Louis will offer him a ride home.

“Hey! Need a ride?” Louis offers behind him, and Harry bites his lip to hide his smile as he turns around.

“I would love one.”

Louis doesn’t even take him home. Instead, they end up at the same diner they’ve found themselves at several times in the past month. They sit in the booth that is very quickly becoming “their” booth. The same waitress serves them every time, bringing a pot of coffee without either of them asking. She knows their order by now, but always makes sure to ask if they’re in the mood to switch it up. 

“Any leads?” Louis asks, stirring in his sugar and creamer. Harry doesn’t even bother teasing him for it any more; it doesn’t even phase Louis at this point. He takes a sip of it, wincing as it burns his tongue. He also never seems to learn his lesson to wait for it to cool down, always trying to drink it straight away. 

“You mean any visions?” Harry corrects, waiting for his own coffee to cool down before he takes a sip. Louis attempts to take another sip, wincing once again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis mumbles, smirking slightly. At this point, Harry is sure that Louis doesn’t believe in Harry’s “abilities,” but that he’s just playing along, maybe just to piss Zayn off and keep Harry out of trouble. “So nothing? Nothing that could save your ass?”

Harry shakes his head, shoulders slumping. “I’m really going to get fired tomorrow. And that’s, like, best case scenario. I could go to  _ jail _ .”

Their food arrives before Louis can respond. They both thank their waitress, digging in. Neither one of them bring it up again before they finish, too interested in their food and too afraid of what could be said. 

Harry pays and Louis leaves the tip, the way they always do. It’s their routine, something so achingly familiar, and Harry isn’t quite ready to give it up. 

“Come home with me?” Harry asks as they walk out to Louis’ car, deciding to take a chance. This could be his last opportunity. Louis would probably want nothing to do with him come the morning. He has to seize the moments while he can, and all that.

Louis unlocks the car and opens his door, peering at Harry over the car. He’s silent for a beat, taking in Harry’s expression. Harry can only hope he’s keeping his face even and not giving away how eager he is. Taking Louis home would be a dream come true, impending doom of the next day be damned. 

“I would love to,” Louis says as he gets in his car. He shuts the door with a bang, turning on the car immediately. Harry stands there, completely stunned, having hoped but not expected Louis to actually agree. Harry must stand there for an awkward amount of time, so Louis rolls down the passenger side window and asks if Harry is coming with, or if Louis will be taking care of himself for the night. This gets Harry moving easier.

The drive back to Harry’s apartment is mostly quiet, save for Harry giving Louis directions. Louis has never actually given Harry a ride home, despite all the times he’d offered. They usually end up at the diner, and it’s a close enough walk that Harry always declines Louis’ offers. 

It’s a short drive, but Harry finds himself spending the whole time worrying about what the inside of his apartment looks like. Did he even remember to do his dishes before he left? When was the last time he even did his dishes?  _ Or changed his sheets _ ? He begins to panic internally, wiping his damp hands on his jeans. It isn’t too late to tell Louis that he changed his mind.

Before Harry can say anything, maybe play it off as a joke, Louis’ parking on the street and turning off the car. He turns to Harry with a raised eyebrow, as if saying  _ “what have you got planned for me _ ?” It does nothing to help calm Harry down.

“If you don’t want me to come up, I won’t,” Louis mumbles as his expression softens. Harry wipes his hands on his jeans again. It doesn’t do much. His hands slide awkwardly against the denim as Louis watches on. “It kind of seems like you don’t want me to.”

“It’s not that,” Harry whispers. “You make me so nervous.”

Louis chuckles, reaching out a hand and tugging on a piece of Harry’s hair. “Is that a bad thing?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, definitely not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Nobody’s ever made me nervous before.”

Louis widens his eyes slightly. Not noticeably to maybe anyone else, but Harry recognizes the surprise on his face. He traces a finger across Harry’s cheekbone, a minor quiver  to it as he does so. It’s so gentle, so surprisingly intimate, that Harry takes a deep, stuttering breath. 

“You make me so fucking nervous, Louis,” Harry admits. His mouth doesn’t seem to be getting the memos that his brain is sending for it to  _ stop talking _ . 

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Louis pulls his hand away, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing from the car without another word. Harry inhales a steadying breath and follows suit, closing the door behind him. Louis is waiting patiently at the steps, hand extended. Harry takes the hand gratefully and leads the way inside, up the flight of stairs and to his door.

His hands shake as he pulls out his keys, dropping them once. Louis looks on with what can only be described as fondness as Harry picks them up.

“I feel like this is my first time all over again,” Harry jokes, laughing shakily as he unlocks the door.

“I’m not sure what impression you’re under,” Louis says. “What do you think is going to happen tonight?”

Harry is about to stutter an apology when he sees Louis’ lips break into a smile. Some of the tension slips out of Harry as he opens the door and gestures for Louis to enter first. Louis squeezes his waist as he slides past, leaving Harry standing speechless in the doorway.

“Well, are you coming?” Louis asks, standing at the end of the hallway, expectant look on his face. Harry can’t help the way he slams the door and strides down the hallway to push Louis against the wall and connect their lips. 

As far as first kisses go, it’s awkward and aggressive, their lips unaligned and teeth knocking together. Louis fists his hands into Harry’s shirt and tugs him closer, tilting his head and aligning their lips more properly. Harry cradles Louis’ face in his hands, following Louis’ lead easily.

Harry isn’t sure how long they stand there in the hallway, kissing like it’s the only thing they know how to do. Eventually he feels Louis push gently where his hands are still fisted in Harry’s shirt.

Harry takes a step back, breathing heavily and staring at Louis. They’ve barely touched each other and both of them are a mess, panting, shirts askew.

“Is it presumptuous of me to ask you to lead the way to the bedroom?” Louis teases, reaching up to brush Harry’s hair from his forehead. Harry leans into the touch, not even caring about how sweaty his skin definitely is. 

“Yes,” Harry deadpans. Louis’ face breaks into a smile, caressing his hand down Harry’s face until he’s thumbing at Harry’s lips. 

“Oh well. Lead the way,” he says with a giggle, slipping a hand up the back of Harry’s shirt. Harry flinches at the contact of their skin but steadies himself, pulling an arm around Louis’ waist and leading him down the hallway. They reach his bedroom door, barely cracked open from when he had left this morning. He kicks it open gently and pulls Louis inside.

Harry feels his nerves come back to him now that they’re standing in his room. Louis’ looking at him like he can see into Harry’s soul, and Harry doesn’t doubt it. He’s so used to being the one who can read people, the one who keeps everyone else at a distance, that this feels all the more intense. All the more intimate. 

“You okay?” Louis whispers. Harry lives alone, so there’s no need, but it feels appropriate.

“Yes,” Harry says, just as quietly. Louis guides them both to the edge of the bed, pressing against Harry’s chest until he sits back. He sits down on the soft bed, barely having any time to feel embarrassed about his unmade sheets before Louis is straddling his lap. He presses gentle kisses across Harry’s face, starting at his forehead and ending with one against the corner of his mouth.

Harry’s breath catches as Louis presses another two kisses against both corners of Harry’s mouth. Pulling back, Louis gives him a look Harry doesn’t quite understand, almost as if he’s concerned. Harry leans in and kisses him in an attempt to wash away his worries. He doesn’t want Louis to look at him like he’s fragile or like he’ll break if they go any further. 

“I promise I want this,” Harry says as they pull away. Louis kisses him again, right between the eyebrows, loud and theatrical and wet. Harry chuckles as Louis does it again. 

“I want this, too,” Louis replies, hands going to Harry’s hair and tangling themselves there, tugging gently and nails scratching against his scalp. “I want you.”

Harry can’t take it any longer, being so close to Louis and not necessarily doing anything. He leans in and kisses Louis, open mouthed and sloppy. It maybe doesn’t fit the mood of the room, how gentle they’re being with each other, but it’s what Harry  _ needs _ . Louis gives his hair another tug, pulling a moan from him.

Moaning opens his mouth wider, allowing Louis enough room to slip his tongue inside. Their tongues slide dirtily against each other, licking into each other’s mouths as their hands travel. Louis keeps one hand in Harry’s hair and lets the other slip under his shirt. Harry rests his hands on Louis’ thighs, just underneath his ass.

Louis shifts his hips, somehow leaning both into Harry’s hands and grinding their lower halves together. Harry grips more firmly, pulling Louis tighter against his body. Louis rolls his hips again, just dirty enough that Harry has to pull away to moan this time. 

“Lean back, babe,” Louis commands, bringing his hand out from under Harry’s shirt and using it to push against his chest. Harry complies, removing his hands from Louis’ thighs and sprawling out against his mattress. Louis sits back and unbuttons his shirt, letting it hang open as he crawls up the bed to kiss Harry again. He uses his hands to slip up Harry’s shirt, bunching it up around his armpits.

He licks at Harry’s newly exposed skin, sucking bruises in a line up his stomach and chest, using one hand to pinch at Harry’s nipples. Harry moans, arching his back into the touch. Louis presses him down with the hand on his chest, moving to bite one of his nipples. Harry is very quickly falling apart under Louis’ touch.

“Need more,” Harry begs, tangling his fingers in Louis’ hair as he watches Louis go between sucking on his nipples, glancing up from underneath his eyelashes. “Please, Lou.”

Louis pulls off, Harry’s nipples slick with spit as Louis comes up and kisses him, open-mouthed and dirty. It’s mostly just their tongues sliding against one another, Harry holding onto Louis by a death grip in his hair and Louis straddling his hips. Louis begins rolling his hips, searching for friction against Harry’s body.

“Still need more,” Harry mumbles against Louis’ lips. “Don’t make me beg again.”

Louis leans forward against Harry’s neck and laughs quietly, hot air blowing against Harry’s exposed skin. “I kind of like hearing you beg.”

“You would,” Harry teases, fingers poking at Louis’ sides. Louis shrieks out a laugh, attempting unsuccessfully to shimmy away from the tickling. 

“Release me!” Louis says, but he’s laughing and has stopped trying to slip away. Harry stills his fingers, deciding Louis’ probably been tortured enough, and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist and pulls him closer.

Louis responds by pressing kisses on Harry’s neck. The kisses start gentle and sweet, but within moments Louis is biting at his skin, leaving inevitable bruises. Harry doesn’t find he minds so much, leaning into the touch and moaning under his breath.

The sound of his zipper startles Harry from his trance. He can feel Louis’ hands trying to shimmy his pants down without disturbing his mission of leaving as many hickies as possible on Harry’s neck. Harry lifts his hips, being as helpful as he can be, and Louis finally manages to slide his jeans down his body.

He feels exposed, laying there in just his briefs, while Louis still mostly clothed. In fact, he’s still wearing  _ all _ of his clothes, just his top unbuttoned. Harry decides that just won’t do, sliding Louis’ shirt off his shoulders. Louis sits back on his heels and Harry admires him.

Louis’ got all sorts of curves and hard edges. Harry can’t decide what he wants to touch first. What he wants to get his mouth on first. 

“Hey, stop staring,” Louis says, smiling softly as he trails his fingertips lightly up Harry’s stomach. “It’s not polite.”

“Can’t help myself.” The words are mostly slurred, Harry’s head gone foggy just by the sheer proximity of a shirtless Louis. He wonders how he’ll fare when Louis finally gets his fingers in him, when  _ Louis _ is finally in him. The thought of Louis actually being inside of him hits him like a punch to the gut, all of the air sucked out of him. It wasn’t something he had thought about.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks softly, leaning forwards on his knees and brushing a strand of Harry’s hair back from his forehead.

Harry nods, maintaining eye contact with Louis. “Just thinking about you fucking me.”

“At least you’re honest,” Louis says teasingly. He presses a kiss to Harry’s temple before running his hands along Harry’s sides. When he reaches Harry’s briefs, he slides those down along his legs, leaving Harry completely bare. 

It takes Harry a moment to realize Louis has asked him a question, head tilted as he hovers over Harry and waits for a response. 

“What was that? Sorry,” Harry apologizes, cheeks heating up slightly.

“I was just asking if you were sure if you wanted me to fuck you, is all,” Louis says again. 

“I’ve never been on the receiving end, before,” Harry admits, “But I want it with you.” He’s surprised at his own honesty. 

Louis seems surprised too, leaning forward and giving Harry another sweet kiss. “If you’re sure, then I would love that.”

Harry only nods in response, scratching his nails lightly up Louis’ back. He watches as a shiver takes over Louis’ body, seeming to kick him into action. He takes Harry cock in his hand, pumping absentmindedly as he sucks more bruises in Harry’s skin. Harry should probably stop him, but he doesn’t really want to.

“More, please,” Harry finds himself begging, not for the first time that night. Louis gives him a cheeky smile and grips more firmly, stroking faster. It drags, dry in Louis’ calloused hand, but Harry doesn’t find himself minding. 

“So polite,” Louis teases, glancing around Harry’s room. Harry can tell instantly what he’s looking for.

“Top drawer of my nightstand,” Harry says, bucking up into Louis’ fist. Louis thanks him with a kiss, releasing him and reaching into his nightstand. He pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom packet and sets them next to Harry on the bed.

“Just want to clarify one last time, you want this?” Louis asks, voice serious as he trails his hands down Harry’s chest. Harry shivers at the touch, goosebumps appearing all along his skin.

“Yes, now hurry up,” Harry says, smiling to let Louis know he’s joking. Louis returns the smile and picks up the bottle of lube. The sound of the bottle cap seems to echo in the quiet room, all Harry can focus on. 

Louis warms some of the lube up between his finger tips, something Harry is extremely grateful for. Sparing one last look at him, Louis spreads Harry’s thighs with one of his hands, bringing the other one to Harry’s hole. He circles it slowly before pushing one finger in, gentle in exactly the way Harry expected.

Harry sighs as Louis slides his finger in, thankful for the temporary relief it brings. Louis takes his time, fingering Harry open and pulling moans from him. Harry had been nervous, but of course Louis is as good at this as he is with everything else. By the time Louis has three fingers in him, Harry is a writhing mess, gripping the sheets tightly in his fists and bucking his hips into the touch.

“Ready for me, babe?” Louis asks, pressing a delicate kiss onto Harry’s stomach. Harry nods, more than ready. Louis removes his fingers, wiping them on the sheets. Harry would call him out for it if he were able to form coherent sentences. As it is, Harry can only raise an eyebrow, receiving an eyebrow wiggle in return. 

Louis reaches for the condom, tearing open the packet and rolling it on. He takes his time, pouring more lube into his hand and stroking himself slowly, teasingly. Just as Harry thinks he’s going to explode, unable to take any more teasing, Louis lines himself up and begins to press in. As gentle as he is, the burn still brings tears to Harry’s eyes.

“Ssh, baby, I’ve got you,” Louis whispers, propping himself up on one elbow and brushing Harry’s hair away from his forehead with his free hand. He leans down and kisses at the few tears that manage to escape, stopping them before they roll down his cheeks. Just as Harry thinks he won’t be able to take it any longer, that he’ll have to ask Louis to pull out and just call this whole ordeal off, Louis begins shallowly thrusting. It knocks the air out of Harry, but this time in a good way.

“ _ Louis _ ,” he gasps, closing his eyes and hands scrambling for purchase on Louis’ back. He can’t get too firm of a grip, both of them sweaty and slick. 

Spurred on by Harry’s moans, Louis begins thrusting more deeply, pulling out and snapping back in. He fists a hand into Harry’s hair at the base of his neck, not pulling, just gripping tightly. It’s as if he’s holding on to keep himself anchored, the way Harry feels he needs to as well.

Louis’ thrusts grow more sporadic as time goes on, alternating between fast and slow, slamming his hips with no rhythm. All Harry can really do is hold on, legs wrapped around Louis’ waist and nails dug into his back, sure there’s going to be marks for days.

“I’m gonna come,” Louis says into Harry’s neck. He licks a stripe along Harry’s collarbones, following it by sucking a bruise there. “I’m so close, baby.”

Harry moans, throwing his head back. “Me too,  _ oh god _ .”

That must have been what Louis was waiting to hear because as soon as Harry says it, he’s moaning loudly, hips stuttering as he comes. 

“Oh my god, oh god,” he mumbles nonsense into Harry’s skin, clutching onto any part of Harry’s body he can get ahold of. When his orgasm is done, Louis, breathless and pink, pulls out and tosses the condom onto Harry’s floor. Harry would probably be annoyed about that, as well, but Louis is leaning down and taking his dick into his mouth, so all other thoughts fly out of his mind.

“Fuck,” Harry says, inhaling sharply as he feels Louis’ mouth on him. It’s warm and overwhelming, the way Louis’ tongue runs along the length of him. Harry is proud of himself for lasting all of thirty seconds, coming with a loud moan into Louis’ mouth. Louis swallows it all, pulling off and having the audacity to actually lick his lips.

“You need to eat more fruit,” Louis says, climbing back up the bed to cuddle into Harry’s arms. Harry doesn’t bother with a response, flicking him on the nose and pulling him closer. “Also, we’re sticky and gross.”

“Please, give me just five minutes to recover,” Harry mumbles, smile tugging on the corner of his lips. He can’t find it in himself to actually be annoyed at Louis.

“Five minutes. No more than that,” Louis agrees. Harry doesn’t reply, eyes closing. Louis notices, twisting one of his nipples gently. “Hey! No sleeping!”

“You’re a menace,” Harry says, not opening his eyes.

“That’s no way to talk to someone who just blew your back out.”

Harry snorts, finally opening his eyes. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. It was nothing special.”

Louis smiles into Harry’s chest, curling further into him. He presses a kiss there, gentle in comparison to the way he then sucks a bruise into Harry’s skin.

“Fine, I guess we’ll just have to try again.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no i couldn't wait to post this, sorry ://  
>   
> but yeah, here it is! i think people who have seen psych will probably enjoy the scene where they expose the killer; it has a very shawn spenecer-esque air about it.  
>   
> you're welcome to message me or be my friend at my [tumblr](http://microlouis.tumblr.com/)

**** The next day finds Harry and Louis strolling into work together, hickies littered on both of their necks, and Louis wearing yesterday’s clothes. He had begged Harry for just a different shirt, but all of them had been too big on him. He looked like he was playing dress-up in his dad’s clothing, so he had decided it wasn’t even worth it.

Niall wolf whistles as soon as he spots them, hollering and making a scene. Louis pretends to be embarrassed, ducking his head and hiding his smile. Harry doesn’t even pretend to act ashamed, throwing a careless arm over Louis’ shoulder and pulling him in closer.

“Well, did your headache go away?” Liam asks when they part ways, referencing the way Harry had denied a ride home the previous day. 

“Hmm, funnily enough, I think it did,” Harry says as he sits down at the makeshift desk. He throws Liam a cheeky smile, adding a wink for good effect. 

“Are you nervous?” Liam asks, effectively changing the subject. Harry’s smile falls off his face as he remembers the reason Louis and him even ended up in that situation in the first place; they both believed he’d be gone by the end of the day. 

“I thought I would be,” Harry admits, “But I think I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve had fun here. And you get to go back to your boring adult job.”

Liam laughs, but there’s nothing to it, more empty sounding than anything. “Yeah, I won’t have to worry about having a heart attack every day.”

“You know that’s right.” 

Harry lays his head down on the table, feeling its coolness against his cheek. He has about fifteen minutes before he’s set to meet Chief Cowell in one of the interrogation rooms and take a lie detector test. He’s surprisingly not as nervous as he thinks he’s supposed to be. He thinks it has something to do with the way his dad had trained him on everything, from breaking out of the trunks of cars to passing a polygraph. All he could do now was pray that training didn’t fail him. 

Across the room, Louis is visibly anxious, tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him. Zayn is telling him something, probably some dumb story, but Louis doesn’t appear to be hearing a word of it.

The fifteen minutes pass by far too quickly. Niall comes to grab him, letting him know the Chief is waiting for him. Harry follows slowly; Niall chats his ear off the whole way there. Harry can tell he’s talking more than normal. It’s definitely the nerves.

He’s still not as nervous as he thinks he should be.

Niall opens the door for him, revealing Chief Cowell and the polygraph technician sitting there. The Chief gestures for him to take a seat at the table, and waves Niall off with his hand. Harry walks over, sitting down and clasping his hands in front of him. The Chief chooses to stand, obviously a power move.

“Thanks for doing this, Mr. Styles,” Chief Cowell says. The technician hooks Harry up with all the necessary wires. “Ready?”

Harry nods, still somehow way more confident than he has any right to be. “As I’ll ever be.”

“What is your name?” The Chief asks.

“Harry Edwards Styles.” 

So starts the longest hour of his life.

 

Harry exits the interrogation room feeling drained. He’s never had to answer so many questions about himself in such a short amount of time. When he makes it to the end of the hallway, Louis and Niall are crowded around Zayn’s desk, with Liam nowhere in sight. He strolls over to them as casually as he can.

“How’d it go?” Niall asks, his voice booming in the quiet work place. Harry notices Louis wincing at the sound.

“I think well?” Harry says, pitch rising towards the end, forming more of a question than a statement.

“Wouldn’t you know?” Zayn snorts, but it doesn’t seem to hold as much bite as it normally does.

“Well, I didn’t lie, so yes, it went well.” Harry flashes them all a charming smile, and he can see Niall and Louis let out the breath they had been holding. “We’re supposed to go interview some more witnesses.”

“Why didn’t you  _ start _ with that?” Niall shrieks, lightly punching him in the arm. Harry figures he deserves it. “I thought for sure the only other fun person that works here was going to get fired.”

“Technically, I’m just a contractor,” Harry jokes. “But I get the point.”

“You’re a shithead,” is all Louis says, but he says it with a soft smile, so Harry knows he can’t be all that mad. 

 

They spend their day interviewing witnesses, asking the same questions over and over. No one’s really seen much, all of them repeating different versions of the same story. They leave each home feeling more disheartened than they did before.

“Hey,” Louis whispers as they walk to Zayn’s car. “It’s not your fault. I know what you think.”

“I know,” Harry says with a sigh. “I just can’t help but feel like I’m missing something. And we don’t have any new evidence or witnesses or literally  _ anything _ .”

“It’s frustrating,” Louis agrees, holding open the door so Harry can climb into the backseat. Liam had claimed the passenger seat as his own, and nobody had really tried to fight him. Niall, Louis, and Harry all piled into the backseat as they drove from house to house. Of course, Liam and Louis both have their own cars, but nobody mentions anything.

Zayn drives them back to the station in mostly silence, the radio playing but nobody saying much. Liam, to his credit, tries to start a few conversations, but they all fizzle out quickly. Nobody’s in much a mood for lighthearted discussions.

Arriving at the station, they all part ways. Harry’s work is technically done for the day, so he and Liam decide to go for lunch. Niall and Zayn wave their goodbyes, and Louis looks like he wants to say more. Harry feels the same. 

They walk to the diner quietly, neither of them having much to say. Liam goes to sit in the corner booth by the window when they arrive, but Harry pulls him into another booth across the room. It doesn’t feel right to sit in a place that he’s deemed as Louis’.

“How are you feeling?” Liam asks, picking up a menu. It feels out of place to be there with someone who’s not Louis, who doesn’t already know what they’re going to order, and who isn’t going to  dump half the sugars into their coffee. Liam doesn’t even  _ drink _ coffee. 

“Don’t ask dumb questions,” Harry says. Their usual waitress isn’t even there. Which makes sense, that if she works the night shift usually, she wouldn’t be working in the middle of the day. But. 

“You get to keep your job,” Liam points out. “That’s a positive. You and Louis obviously did something. That’s probably a positive.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Is it?”

“Do you think it’s not?”

“I’m not sure.” Harry shrugs, watching as their server approaches from the corner of his eye. He decides against warning Liam, watching the way he jumps when the server reaches the table and greets them. 

Liam orders first, something too healthy and not at all appealing to him. He orders a large helping of pancakes, bacon, and eggs. Liam wrinkles his nose in disgust, something Harry chooses to ignore. He had forgotten what it was like to go out to eat with someone who actually gave a shit about their body.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Liam asks. 

“No.”

“Do you think you should talk about it?”

“Yes.”

Liam laughs, snorting out of his nose. “Okay, well. Then talk to me. You know I love to listen to your problems.”

Harry knows this is true. They’ve known each other forever, having grown up together. They know everything about each other. Liam’s the first person Harry would go to if he needed advice; he genuinely always knows what to say. 

“Louis only slept with me because he thought I was getting fired,” Harry tells him. “Like. We obviously like each other. But he has such a strict ‘no dating coworkers’ policy. Then he lets his guard down because I’m supposed to get fired, we have an amazing night together, and then I keep my job in the morning.”

“You think he’s mad?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not mad, no. Just. Confused, maybe?”

Liam hums, a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He’s always done this thing where he asks Harry a bunch of questions, almost like warming him up, then lets Harry go off on these tangents. Harry had once described Liam as his porn fluffer, which had earned him a firm punch on the arm (that he totally deserved). 

“Like.” Harry swallows and takes a deep breath. Talking about Louis always makes his head spin, in a good kind of way. Like a high he doesn’t want to come down from. “It’s like, since I’m not fired, he doesn’t really know where to go from here. And I don’t really know where to go from here, either.”

“I don’t think I have any advice for you,” Liam admits sheepishly. “I think all you can do is talk to Louis, yeah?”

Harry’s shoulders slump in defeat. “I think you’re right.” He straightens up, remembering something he had been dying to ask Liam. “What’s going on with you and Zayn?”

Liam’s saved from answering by the delivery of their food, both of them immediately digging in. Harry’s got half of his eggs done when he remembers the topic at hand.

“We’re talking about this later!”

 

It’s two days later when Harry gets a call from Chief Cowell that he should swing by the station - there’s been a break in the case. As soon as he gets the call, he’s running around his apartment, barely remembering to put on real pants before he bolts out the door. He calls Liam as he’s running over, breathless and telling him to get to the station as soon as possible.

Barely ten minutes have passed since receiving the phone call before Harry’s running into the station, out of breath and red-faced. Zayn gives him a weird look, sipping coffee out of what is definitely Liam’s coffee mug. 

“What’s got you all riled up?” he asks, looking not at all like he cares.

“Chief called me,” Harry pants. “Said we had a break in the case.”

This catches Zayn’s interest. “Break in the case?”

Niall pokes his head around the corner. “Did I hear correctly? There’s been a break in the case?”

Harry nods frantically. “Yes, I got the call like ten minutes ago. Chief didn’t tell you guys? He said it was urgent.”

Just as Harry’s finishing his sentence, the chief is opening the door to his office. He gestures Harry in with a wave of his hand. He makes his way over with Zayn and Niall trailing hot on his heels.

“I see you’ve gathered everyone,” the chief says, pointed looks at both Niall and Zayn. “Do you know where Tomlinson and Mr. Payne are?”

“Uh-” Harry starts, but is cut off by the swinging of the door, both men stumbling in. They look flustered. Louis’ buttons on his shirt don’t line up, and Liam’s sweaty, probably running straight from his office.

“Perfect.” The chief pulls out a manilla folder from one of his drawers. “There’s been some new action on the case. Unfortunately for you, Harry, it looks like we’ll need to remove your services.”

“What? Why?” Harry asks, already defensive. He had  _ just _ proved himself as the real deal. He was getting whiplash.

“Your father’s involved now.”

Harry feels the way his body heats up immediately. “Oh, this is just like him! He’s always butting in where he’s not needed. Are you saying you think I can’t work with my dad?”

“No, Harry, that is not at all what I’m saying,” Chief Cowell says in an exasperated tone. “I’m saying the killer, or a copycat, has targeted your father.”

“They what?” he sputters. He’s not quite sure he’s understanding the words coming from the chief’s mouth. They don’t exactly make sense. “They killed my dad?”

“No!” the chief says firmly. “I mean, they’ve contacted him. Sent him a note. Your father is very much alive.”

The relief Harry feels washes over him before being replaced once again by rage. “He really can’t let me have just one thing, can he? Somehow this whole thing has been made about him, once again.”

“Someone has daddy issues,” Zayn mumbles from beside him. 

“Mind your business,” Harry says. He feels unsteady on his feet. “Is he coming to the station?”

“He’s already here,” the chief answers. “He asked for you to take his statement, but I told him I couldn't allow that. It’s a conflict of interest, especially with the complicated relationship you two have.”

“Can I at least see him?” Harry asks.

“Harry…” the chief trails off, looking mildly uncomfortable. “You don’t need my permission to see your father. In fact, in times like these we encourage family members to support each other. Being threatened is traumatic.”

“My dad’s been threatened plenty of times before,” Harry says, “Mostly by me.”

“Do you threaten your dad frequently?” Niall asks. His voice is lighthearted but Harry can feel his whole body tensing. He vaguely hears Liam telling Niall not to worry about it.

“Right. Okay.” Harry claps his hands together, and the sound booms throughout the room. The tension is thick in the air. He just wants to get out. “I think I’ll go see him now. Liam? Would you like to join me?” He doesn’t wait for a response before turning on his heel and exiting the room.

Liam follows behind him, just a centimeter away from stepping on his heels from how closely he’s walking to Harry. 

“Are you sure you’re in the right headspace to see your dad?” Liam asks, concerning filling his voice. “It’s been like three years since you’ve even spoken. This is a big deal and maybe we should talk about it first.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Harry says nonchalantly. They enter the lobby, and Harry can see his dad waiting on the bench. He stops in his tracks, and Liam runs straight into his back. “On second thought, this is a bad idea. Let’s go.”

He spins around, facing Liam. He can see the other’s leaving Chief Cowell’s office over Liam’s shoulder. He feels trapped; like he can’t breathe. The room starts to feel too small, and he has the urge to claw at his clothes. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Liam asks in a whisper. He doesn’t respond, too focused on keeping his breathing even and staying up right. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Liam leads him to the bathroom, the only private place in the whole station. If they were anywhere else, both Niall and Louis would be buzzing over them, desperately trying to help. Harry’s not really up for their help at the moment, as much as he cares for them both.

“Talk to me,” Liam says quietly. “Let me know what you’re thinking. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

“It’s just a lot,” Harry says with a sigh. “Seeing my dad for the first time in literally years. Sleeping with Louis and us being in this awkward stage. I know we need to talk about it, but every time I think about how that talk will inevitably end, my chest feels all tight.”

“How do you think it’s going to end?” Liam asks, honest curiosity in his tone. 

“Not well,” Harry answers. “I think it will end completely. Which is for the best, anyway. I get it. Don’t sleep with your coworkers. Look what happens!”

“I think the only way to know that for sure is to talk to Louis,” Liam says softly.

He’s right, Harry knows. He should definitely talk to Louis. Some of the weight that feels like it’s pressing down on him would just be lifted if he would talk to Louis. If they could sort out whatever’s going to happen between them. He thinks he’ll feel better even if it does end.

“Now about your dad.”

Harry sighs, loudly and overdramatic. He’s been putting off talking about this for so long that’s literally run out of time. 

“You’re going to go out there and tell him that you’re going to talk to each other,” Liam says firmly. “Whether it be a conversation about the weather or something deeper, you guys will have an actual conversation. I think you’ve built up your dad in your mind to be this huge demon, and I think it’ll help you to knock him down a peg. Got it?”

He finds himself nodding along, subconsciously agreeing. 

“Okay, so. Go!” Liam light-heartedly gives Harry a shove in the direction of the door. He smiles gratefully before exiting, finding himself more thankful than ever for having Liam in his life. 

His dad isn’t sitting on the bench where Harry last saw him. He scrambles around momentarily, wondering if he’s missed his opportunity to finally talk to him when he spots the man sitting at Louis’ desk. Louis is writing furiously, obviously taking his dad’s statement. Taking a shaky breath, he makes his way over.

“Hey, Louis,” Harry says as calmly as he can. “Hello, dad.”

Louis’ stops what he’s doing, pen stilling on the page. He doesn’t look up at Harry upon his arrival, instead remaining hunched over and staring at his desk. Which is fine. For once, Harry isn’t looking at Louis.

His dad has aged, more wrinkles in his forehead and hairline having receded some. Instead of the salt and pepper hair that Harry remembers, it’s completely grey now. Despite his aged appearance, he doesn’t look any weaker. He looks as strong and firm as he always did. Harry can’t decide if it’s better or worse that his dad hasn’t changed all that much.

“Harry,” his dad replies. “Nice to see you, son.”

Louis finally looks up at this, eyes wide and resembling a deer in the headlights. His face is screaming ‘ _ I have no idea what to do in this situation _ .’ Harry can relate; he also has no idea what to do in this situation.

“How have you been?” he asks. His tone is casual, but his insides feel like they’re trying to spill onto the floor. “Good, I assume?”

“Good, good,” his dad responds nonchalantly. The casual tone of the conversation makes Harry want to cry. His tone makes it seem like it doesn’t bother him all that much that he hasn’t seen Harry in three years. 

It’s all a lot to process.

Louis seems to regain himself, doing his best to direct the conversation. “Mr. Styles, would you like to continue explaining to me what happened?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he answers sternly. He does almost everything sternly. Harry is sure it’s the only way he knows how to do things. “It was slipped in underneath my door. Just written on plain white paper. Very simple.”

“And what did it say?” Louis asks. 

“‘You’re next.’”

All in all, Harry thinks, that’s not the  _ most _ threatening thing. His dad’s definitely received more thought out threats before in his life. Harry has probably been the one to give him some of those more creative threats, actually.

Louis scribbles all of this down, and the other men stay silent. Louis is the first to break the silence, setting his pen down and standing abruptly. Harry winces at the action, but his father doesn’t even blink. 

“I think that’s all we need,” Louis says as he claps his hands together. “We’ll give you a call if we need anything else, Mr. Styles.” He reaches out and they shake hands, all the while Harry watches on. It feels surreal, almost as if he’s in some sort of not-quite nightmare, but he can’t take his eyes away. 

He watches as his dad walks away without so much of a goodbye or a nod in his direction. It actually doesn’t hurt him that badly; he’s more than used to his father not giving him the attention he deserves, and he’s stopped fighting for it. Maybe if it were ten years ago, he’d be running after his dad, but not today.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks as he turns to face Harry. “That was probably a lot to process.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says with a shrug. “A lot better than I thought I would be, actually. It seems like you’re always checking up on me. Thank you for that.”

“It’s not a problem,” Louis says. He looks like he wants to say more, but thinks better of it. Harry wishes he knew what to say, anything to relieve the tension between them. 

Just as Harry’s about to say something dumb, anything to keep the conversation going, Louis asks, “Want to go get food? I know it’s the middle of the day, and we normally go at night, but maybe we need to shake things up a bit.”

“I’d actually really like that,” Harry agrees, sighing in relief. He can feel his shoulders relax as the semblance of normal returns between them. 

They walk in silence to their normal diner. A nice breeze blows around them;  Harry’s shirt flutters where he’s unbuttoned it and Louis’ hair falls into his eyes. He keeps reaching up to brush it away, and Harry finds himself hopelessly endeared by the action. 

“What?” Louis asks when he catches Harry staring at him for the third time in probably the same amount of minutes. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No, you’re just...adorable,” Harry admits, voice growing quiet towards the end. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

Reaching the diner, Louis holds the door open for Harry and then follows him through. Louis doesn’t say anything until they’re seated at their usual booth in the corner. There are actually cars in the parking lot to look at during this time of day.

“I think we should talk,” Louis finally says. “About a couple things, actually.”

“You have the floor,” Harry says. His heart feels like it’s in his stomach, and the dread settles. He doesn’t have high hopes for what Louis could have to say. He knows Louis’ rules, and he knows how important Louis’ job is to him. He won’t ever hold it against Louis to choose his career over Harry.

Taking a deep breath, Louis begins, voice shaking. “I actually really like you, Harry. You understand me almost better than anyone else I’ve met. Things come incredibly naturally between us. I’m thankful for whatever is between us. I wish there could be more. I know it sounds wrong, but you and I both know we only slept together because we thought you were getting fired.”

“You sound like you’re breaking up with me,” Harry says, trying to lighten the mood.

“I guess that’s kind of what that’s like.” Louis shrugs, and he sinks into himself as his shoulders slump. “We both know that as long as we’re going to have to work together, nothing more than a friendship can happen between us.”

“I get it,” he says softly. “It doesn’t make it hurt less, but I get it.”

Louis hesitantly reaches a hand out across the table, fingers stretching towards where Harry’s hand is resting. Harry lets it happen, always desperate for Louis’ touch. Just as he goes to say something, anything to change the topic and bring some light-heartedness back to the conversation, a server walks up to take their order. The fact that it’s not their server only makes Harry feel worse; it’s like another thing that couldn’t go right, couldn’t stay the same.

“Do you want to talk about the case?” Louis finally asks, minutes after their server has walked away. It feels like they’ve been silent for hours, though, the way they awkwardly look at each other and Louis’ fingers are still wrapped around Harry’s wrist. Neither of them mention the way he hasn’t pulled away yet.

“Are you allowed to talk about the case with me?”

Louis shrugs. “I’m finding myself to be more of a rule breaker, these days.”

“Next thing we know, you’re going to be tampering with evidence,” Harry jokes, but his tone is forced. Everything between them is forced, from the way they smile at each other and force out laughs at things that should have been funny. “A real wild card.”

The rest of lunch goes that way, Harry making jokes that Louis pretends to find funny. Although, he only removes his fingers from Harry’s wrist when the food arrives and he needs to use both of his hands to eat. They briefly discuss the case, but he has a feeling Louis only asks because he wants to hear Harry talk about his dad. He doesn’t really feel like talking about his dad.

They part ways after lunch; Louis heads back to the station to work more, but Harry is drained and technically not on any cases for the moment. Louis tells him it’s probably best for him to go home, get some sleep, and process the day. 

Harry doesn’t argue, despite every fiber in his body telling him to follow Louis.

 

The big break comes three days later, Harry bolting up from his nap in the middle of the day. Since he’s not working any cases, he finds himself with too much free time on his hands. With too much free time, his mind wanders, so he’s been forcing himself to just sleep as much as he can. It doesn’t work too well because his dreams often make him feel worse when he wakes up.

Waking up from one of these naps, Harry is breathing heavily like he just ran a marathon. He sends Liam a text message, asking him if he kept any birthday cards Harry’s family gave him when they were younger. Liam sends back a series of question marks, but inevitably says that he has them. Every birthday card that Harry’s dad used to write is in one of Liam’s memory boxes.

Harry had made fun of him for keeping everything, claiming sentimental value, but now he’s realizing the benefit of it. He’ll never make fun of Liam again. (Yes he will).

Not even thirty minutes later, Liam is knocking on Harry’s door. He enters before Harry has the chance to open it, arms full of a large box. At first glance, it looks heavy, but it doesn’t make any sound as it’s placed on the floor.

“Your dad used to send me a birthday card every year, each with basically the same message,” Liam says as he pops the top off the box. Inside, there are multitudes of cards, all of them saying the same variation of ‘happy birthday.’

“‘Happy birthday, Liam. Congrats.’” Harry remembers the way his dad had never let him write the card, claiming men didn’t get sappy and emotional with each other. He had always signed Harry’s name as well, with a snide comment that he didn’t have good enough handwriting. 

“Why do you need these?” Liam asks, sitting down cross-legged in front of the box. He pulls out bundles of cards. Harry assumes they’re bundled by who sent them to him, or the year he received them. Maybe both, if that’s possible.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says, if not with a little snark in his tone. When he realizes Liam isn’t the reason for all of his pent up anger and frustration, he deflates with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m just so...frustrated. You’re easy to take it out on.”

“I realized,” Liam deadpans, but his face breaks out into a smile so Harry knows that he understands.

“Anyway,” Harry starts. He takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly as he gains the courage to admit what he hadn’t quite been ready to say out loud. 

His words make Liam drop the stack of cards he had been holding. They hit the floor with a light thud, the rest of the room falling quiet.

 

“You’re sure about this?” Liam asks for roughly the seventeenth time in the last thirty seconds. He’s been an anxious mess since Harry revealed his thoughts and beliefs. At first, Liam had been shocked and confused, then turned to denial, but now he had accepted what Harry was telling him.

Harry spins on his heels to look Liam in the eye. “Of course I’m not sure!”

They’re walking to the police station, stack of birthday cards in Harry’s hand, to let the chief in on the information Harry had “seen.” At this point, they’re basically running to get there. Harry needs to get this information out before he loses his courage.

Liam yanks on his arm to get him to slow down. Harry stumbles, but stops, giving Liam a stern look. He doesn’t have time for Liam to be afraid. He thought they were over this whole nervousness of being caught thing.

“Are you sure you’re right?” Liam asks. Which is. Not what Harry had been expecting him to say.

“When have I ever been wrong?”

“A lot of times actually,” Liam tells him matter-of-factly. “Want me to start listing them?”

“Not particularly,” Harry says with a sigh. “I know I’m right about this. Trust me. Please, Liam?”

He seems to take a moment to think this over, and he finally drops Harry’s wrist. They stare each other down, and Harry’s eyes are unwavering as Liam searches them. Finally, after what seems like hours, Liam’s shoulders slump with an over dramatic sigh. 

“I trust you,” he admits. “I definitely shouldn’t, but I do.”

“Then let’s go.” 

They walk the rest of the way to the station at a more casual pace. Liam keeps sneaking glances in Harry’s direction, and Harry can tell that he’s worried. Probably about Harry’s sanity. He understands. 

The station is the same as it always is when they walk in. People are bustling around, going about their jobs, as if completely unaware that Harry’s whole world is shattering. The lady at reception who asks him every day about her cat is there, chattering away on the phone. Niall is laughing too loudly at a joke being told to him. Zayn is typing away at his computer. And Louis.

Louis is working diligently at his desk. Harry wouldn’t expect him to be doing anything else.

“You can do this?” Liam asks under his breath. Despite how loud the surroundings are, Harry can hear him just fine.

He nods. “I think so.”

Liam seems to think this is good enough, and he leads them both to the chief’s office. He knocks politely, entering when the chief invites them inside.

“What’s going on, Mr. Payne? Mr. Styles?” Chief Cowell asks, closing the folders on his desk. He sets them aside, giving his full attention to the two men.

“I had a vision,” Harry says. He’s ready to put on a show, pull out the theatrics for this.

“A vision?” the chief asks, confusion slightly seeping into his voice. “You’re unblocked? What case are you working on? Did we assign you to something?”

The chief’s rapid fire questions don’t phase Harry. By this point, he has one goal. He can’t process anything that doesn’t pertain to the information he’s about to drop.

“No, sir,” Liam steps in. “This is about the case you took Harry off of, actually.”

“Do go on,” the chief says, sitting back in his chair. They’ve gotten his attention now.

“We’re actually waiting on someone,” Harry says to him. He opens the door a crack and peaks his head out. He spots just who he’s looking for coming in through the entrance and Harry grabs his attention, waving him into the chief’s office. Harry turns back to the chief, adding, “Hope you don’t mind that I invited someone.”

The chief appears as if he doesn’t know what to say to that, head tilting to the side and peering at Harry curiously. His puzzled expression only grows as Harry’s dad steps into the room, looking equally perplexed.

“Should we get a bigger audience, Liam?” Harry asks him, cocking an eyebrow. At first, Liam looks nervous and scared, but he wipes that expression away and nods. “Perfect. Step out here with me?”

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, Mr. Styles, but I’m not sure I’m a fan of it,” Chief Cowell says, but he stands anyway so Harry’s not too worried. It won’t even matter afterwards, anyways, because after this is done Harry is permanently retiring his time as a psychic.

They exit the office as a group, immediately catching everyone’s attention. Zayn looks irritated at the interruption, but almost everyone else just looks confused and curious. Harry avoids looking in Louis’ direction; he’s afraid just one look from Louis would be enough to shake his confidence.

“Hello, everyone,” Harry says, addressing the entirety of the room. “I’ve had a vision. If you’d all give me your full attention, I’d like to tell you who the killer we’ve been chasing for the past few weeks is. A lot of you don’t know him personally; you just know  _ of _ him. He’s kind of famous around here.”

He can see his father’s shoulders tensing from the corner of his eye. He won’t run - he knows how suspicious that’ll make him look - but it’s not likely that he’ll take this sitting down, either.

“Most of you can probably assume where I’m going at this point,” he continues, “But if you can’t, I’ll explain. I’m talking about my father, people! He’s been killing people I’ve saved. What kind of policeman is mad that people get saved?”

“You aren’t making any kind of sense,” his father hisses in a whisper. Harry chooses to ignore him.

“The only policeman that gets mad when people get saved are the kinds that need everything done by the book.” Harry pauses for dramatic effect, giving the briefest of glances across the room. He avoids Louis’ eye contact, but he knows he has everyone in the room’s attention, including him. “He couldn’t handle these people being saved so unconventionally, by his disappointment of a son.”

“You’re really spinning a crazy story here.”

Harry continues to ignore him. “He just couldn’t handle it! And then he got addicted to the high he received when the kill was all said and done, and he got away with it. He would write those notes, and stump all of us, and he would love every second of it! What a sick man.”

“I don’t have to stay for this,” his dad says, but makes no attempt to move. It’s almost as if he wants to make sure, even as Harry’s calling him out, that he gets every detail correct.

“But then we were stumped. We couldn’t figure it out. Santa Barbara’s brightest put their heads together and had no leads!” Harry throws his hands into the air for dramatic effect. Liam rolls his eyes, but Harry pretends he doesn’t see it. “So he had to insert himself into the case. He needed to know if we were all actually too stupid to figure it out, or if he was just that smart to stump us.”

“Which is where he slipped up,” Harry points out. “This was the turning point. I hadn’t even thought of my dad in any more than a brief thought before I saw him in the station. Now I was thinking of him in the context of the case. That’s when the veil was lifted and I had a vision!”

“Are you getting to the point, Mr. Styles?” the chief asks, but he doesn't sound like he’s scolding Harry. He sounds more like he’s interested, hanging onto to every word. Like he needs to hear the end of this.

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” He sends one last glance over the crowd, and he finally catches Louis’ eyes. He looks just as interested as the rest of the crowd, his eyes wide and leaning forward against his desk. This gives Harry the confidence to continue. “The handwriting. It’s a match for our notes. And I’m sure we’ll find all kinds of evidence in his house and truck. Any DNA left behind would be a perfect match.”

“Do you have anything to say to this, uh, Mr. Styles?” the chief asks, turning to Harry’s dad. 

His dad takes a moment, glancing at the room full of detectives and officers, and seems to think better of any kind of protesting he could do. “In a more private setting, yes. Then I have a lot to say.”

Harry is sure things are happening around him, that people are asking him questions, that he needs to do something, but none of it matters. His dad hadn’t tried to deny it. He was right. His dad had finally snapped. Officially, confirmed, Harry not being the son he’d always wanted was what caused him to lose it.

It kind of hurt.

“Chief?” Harry says, catching the chief as he’s leaving, no doubt on his way to question his father.

“Yes, Harry?” 

“I quit.”

 

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. At first, there had been texts of support, bouquets of flowers on his doorsteps, and dishes of food. Everyone had wanted to check in on him and make sure he was okay. It was almost overwhelming. 

It all slows down, eventually, about a month after his dad’s arrest. He had confessed so easily; Harry had been the most surprised by this. Friends and family had shown their support, and he appreciated it, he really did, but he appreciated it more when things returned to normal. 

Or a semblance of normal.

Liam calls him every night to check in, Niall and him go for drinks every Friday with Zayn (who still makes his snide comments about Harry’s “gift”), but he hadn’t heard a word from Louis. It was kind of hurtful, to not hear  _ anything _ at all from someone he had considered a good friend. He would get over it eventually, but it was all too fresh of a wound.

Just as he’s finally accepting that he won’t be hearing from Louis again, the man himself appears at Harry’s door. He looks scared and timid, like a deer who could run off at any second. Harry doesn’t know if he wants to yell or cry. Maybe both.

“What are you doing here?” Harry finally manages to ask. His voice betrays him, expressing the emotions he would have preferred to keep to himself. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks.”

“I’m moving,” Louis blurts out. His eyes widen as if he hadn’t meant to say that. He probably hadn’t. “Fuck. Shit. I meant to say it differently than that.”

“You’re moving?” Harry feels like his veins have turned to ice. He can’t be hearing Louis correctly. “Like, across town?”

“No, not across town,” Louis says with a sigh. “Can I come in?”

Harry swings the door open and walks inside. He can hear Louis following him, the door shutting softly behind him. He must slip off his shoes because Harry can’t hear them on the floor.

He leads them to the living room, sitting down on one end of the couch. He sits pressed against the arm of the couch, leaving almost the whole thing open for Louis to sit, but Louis chooses to sit close to him, his knee pressed against Harry’s.

“I got a job offer in Indiana,” he finally says. 

“Indiana?”

Louis nods, peering up at Harry from under his eyelashes. “I applied for head detective there, on an off chance. I’d almost forgot I applied, what with the craziness happening. But then I had an interview almost immediately after everything happened with your dad, then another interview, and then I flew out for orientation. I’m moving there this weekend.”

“You’re just now telling me?” Harry asks incredulously. “You couldn’t tell me sooner?”

“No, actually.” Louis swallows audibly. “It was too hard. To know I’d fallen in love with you and I was going to have to leave. I couldn’t do it.”

“Love?” Harry asks, getting stuck on that part of Louis’ small speech. “You’re in love with me?”

Louis nods, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Unfortunately.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Harry deadpans.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Louis says with an eye roll. “We’re in love, and that isn’t enough. You quit the station, and that still ended up not being enough.”

“I love you,” Harry breathes, testing the waters. He ignores everything Louis just said in favor of something more positive. “I love you a lot.”

“Say it again,” Louis whispers, just as quiet as Harry. He leans forward, face inches from one another. “Please. I need to hear. Say it again and again and again.”

“I love you,” Harry says, louder as he gains more confidence. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Louis surges forward, cutting off the additional “I love you’s” Harry was going to spill out. He presses their lips together urgently, as if the most important thing in the world is that he’s kissing Harry. Maybe it is. Maybe for this moment in time, the most important thing  _ is _ that they’re kissing each other.

No time is wasted, Louis slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth. Their tongues slide against each other, dirty and sensual. Louis’ biting at his lips, licking in his mouth, and moaning loudly, and Harry feels like he might combust. 

Harry pulls Louis into his lap, hands immediately going to his ass. He palms firmly, pulling Louis as tightly against his body as he can. He slips his hands down the back of Louis’ jeans, palming him over his underwear. Louis whines, pushing his hips back into Harry’s hands.

“I need you,” Harry admits, pulling away. He’s breathless, panting as he tries to compose himself. 

“Please,” Louis whines, fisting his hands into Harry’s shirt by his collar. He knows it’s being stretched, but he’d rather Louis stretch it out than throw away the moment. 

Harry jumps into action at Louis’ plea, pulling his hands from Louis’ jeans and reaching around to undo the button and unzip them. Louis stands long enough for Harry to slip them down his legs, stepping out of them and climbing back into his lap. 

Their lips are back on each other instantly, as if they’d spent too much time apart already. It soon turns sloppy as Louis grinds his hips into Harry’s, both of them just breathing into each other’s mouths. At this point, Harry isn’t sure if he or Louis is the one whining so loudly. 

Pulling away, Harry says, “If we don’t get to my bedroom soon, I’m going to fuck you on my couch.”

“Would that be so bad?” Louis asks, teasingly and biting his lip. Harry would justify him with an answer, but he grinds his hips down and Harry forgets how to form sentences. 

Instead of answering, Harry grips Louis right underneath his ass and stands up, starting in the direction of his bedroom. Louis yelps adorably, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and holding on tightly. The press of Louis’ fingertips into his shoulders has him kicking open the door and throwing Louis onto the bed, not able to climb on top of his fast enough, connecting their mouths as quickly as possible.

“Off, off, off,” Louis mumbles against his lips as he pushes Harry’s shirt up his chest. Harry takes the not so subtle hint and sits up, throwing his shirt to the other side of the room somewhere. 

Part of him wants to take his time opening Louis up, making this last, but there’s another part that seems to be winning over that wants to get inside of Louis as soon as he can. When Louis slides his boxers down his legs and lays back, arms and legs spread, the decision has been made. 

Louis’ cock sits heavily against his stomach. Harry has to stop himself from reaching out and taking it in his mouth, another task on his mind. He reaches into his nightstand and finds his lube and condoms, tossing them onto the bed. 

“I find it incredibly unfair that I’m naked and you’re wearing  _ all _ of your clothing,” Louis says. Harry turns around, prepared with a sarcastic comment, but finds himself speechless as he watches Louis pump himself, hand loosely wrapped around his cock. “Well, Styles? Get on with it. Get naked.”

Harry doesn’t waste a single second, tripping over his jeans as he slides them down his legs. His underwear quickly follows, and once he’s naked, he’s climbing back onto the bed. He pauses, taking a moment to admire Louis’ naked body.

“I’m really not getting any younger here,” Louis teases, releasing his cock and pulling Harry in by the back of his neck for a searing kiss. Trying to catch his breath, Harry pulls away and reaches for the lube.

He pours it over his fingers, warming it between his fingertips. He spreads Louis’ legs open with a hand on one of his thighs, smoothing his hand over the skin there. Rubbing soothing circles into Louis’ inner thigh with one hand, he uses the other hand to press a finger in.

Louis’ mouth drops open, and a silent moan spills out. Harry presses kisses into the soft skin of his stomach, paying close attention to his hip bones. Tangling a hand into Harry’s hair loosely, Louis gives him a fond smile that’s almost too sweet for the moment.

Harry works Louis open with his fingers, slowly and thoroughly. He wants to make sure Louis is ready, is going to enjoy it. 

Finally, when Harry’s got three fingers inside of Louis and he’s bucking his hips into Harry’s hand, desperate pleas falling from his lips, Harry decides he’s ready. He pulls out his fingers and wipes them on the sheets, reaching for the condom. He rolls it on and adds a generous amount of lube, revelling in the feeling of finally getting a hand on himself.

“Get on with it,” Louis says. He’s going for a more teasing tone, Harry can tell, but the breathlessness of his voice and the flush to his cheeks makes it less teasing and more serious.

“Not getting any younger, I remember,” Harry says. As he lines himself up, he presses kisses onto Louis’ forehead. They’re both a little sweaty, their skin slipping against one another. 

As he presses in, Louis’ eye shut closed and his fingers scramble for purchase on Harry’s back. His fingernails dig in and leave inevitable marks. Having resolved himself to not move until Louis says so, Harry continues to press kisses into his skin throughout it.

After a few moments have passed, Louis begins shifting his hips, as if urging Harry to move. Harry takes the cue, slowly pulling out and just as slowly pushing back in. He shifts to grip Louis’ hips, grabbing ahold of the skin there. Slowly, he builds a rhythm, fucking into Louis with increasing speed. Louis continues to hold on, his fingernails scratching trails up and down Harry’s back, head thrown back and neck exposed. Harry can’t resist leaning in and sucking bruises on Louis’ neck, always making sure to follow them with a soothing kiss onto the skin. 

Eventually, Louis takes one of his hands from Harry’s back and begins pumping himself in time with Harry’s thrusts. The sight has Harry snapping his hips faster, teetering on the edge. 

“I’m close, please,” Louis begs, his hand working over himself. Harry knocks his hand away, replacing it with his own. Almost as soon as he does it, Louis is spilling over his fingers and onto his own chest. Harry follows soon after, thrusting through his orgasm before stilling.

They lay there, Harry on top of Louis, just panting and trying to catch their breath. Harry’s starting to get oversensitive, but is reluctant to pull away. He isn’t sure the next time he’ll get to be so close to Louis.

“If you asked me to stay, I would,” Louis admits, breathing heavily into Harry’s neck. Harry shudders, goosebumps appearing over his skin as Louis’ words and breath ghost over him. “Just say the words, and I’ll stay.”

“I can’t do that,” Harry tells him. He presses kisses into Louis’ hair, pulling out and throwing the condom in the general direction of the trash. “I can’t do that to you.”

“I know,” Louis says, staring at the ceiling as he lays flat on the mattress. “I know you can’t. You’re so good.”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Harry says, changing the topic. He can’t sit here and listen to Louis tell him how good he is when he’s been lying this whole time. When he’s been anything but honest. 

“What is it?” Louis asks. He rolls over onto his side to look at Harry, and the gentleness in his eyes almost takes the breath right out of Harry’s body. 

He tries to take a deep breath to steady himself, and Louis reaches a hand out and places it on his waist. Instantly, Harry feels calmer. He wonders if Louis will always have that effect on him. “I’m not actually a psy-”

“Stop.” Louis cuts him off, tightening his hold on Harry’s waist. His fingertips dig into Harry’s skin. “Don’t say it. You know I know.”

“Thank you,” Harry says. His eyes threaten to close, heavy with sleep. He wants every second he can get with Louis, but his body has other plans. Despite the excitement thrumming through his veins at being in such close proximity of him after being separated for so long, he can feel the sleep taking over.

As he’s slipping under, sleep winning the battle, he feels Louis press a kiss to his temple and whisper, “Goodnight. I love you.”

 

Harry finds himself all the more lost over the course of the next few weeks. He’s still not working, and at this point he’s stopped answering texts from his friends. Niall and Zayn stop by one day to check in on him, and he just sends them away. Liam makes sure to come over every night for dinner, but that’s all the outside human interaction he tolerates. He even starts getting his groceries delivered.

“This is getting pathetic,” Liam says one night while they’re having dinner. “Get yourself together, mate.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Harry grumbles. “I’m allowed a mourning period.”

“I’m giving you three more days of mourning period, but then you need to get a job or something.” Liam flicks a chip at Harry’s forehead, watching as it bounces off and hits the floor. “Literally anything that would give you a reason to start showering again.”

Harry rolls his eyes and continues to pick at his food. “Fine. I’ll go job hunting tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Except, Harry doesn’t go and get himself a job. He opens his laptop to apply to the odd jobs he used to find so much pleasure in doing, and none of them seem right. Nothing sparks his interest. He closes out of the job search engine without applying to any of them, and tries not to think about how he’s disappointed Liam.

He’s about to go back to his daily routine of wearing the same sweatpants, watching Netflix, and eating junk food, when he has an idea. It’s a crazy idea, but an idea nonetheless. It’s the first thing to actually put a spark in him since his father was arrested, save the night he spent with Louis.

He dials Liam’s number, praying he’ll answer and talk him out of this. Liam’s always been the voice of reason; he would never let Harry do anything crazy.

“Are you okay?” Liam says as he picks up the phone. 

“Yes, yes,” Harry says, pacing his living room. “I think so. I need you to stop me from doing something incredibly stupid.”

“I haven’t heard you this excited in weeks,” Liam responds. “So I’m not sure that I want to stop you, whatever it is.”

“I want to move out to Indiana. To Louis.”

The line is silent for a brief pause, and Harry can tell Liam is taking in what he just said. 

Just as he’s expecting Liam to come out and tell him he’s crazy, he goes, “I think that’s a good idea, actually.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, when he realizes Liam has actually  _ agreed  _ with him. “Has Hell frozen over? Does  _ the _ Liam Payne actually agree with me?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” Harry can practically hear the eye roll through the phone. “I think it’s a good idea for you to get out of here. Santa Barbara isn’t your home anymore. I think following Louis is just a perk, but it’s not the only reason you’d be leaving. Nothing holds you here. This place is just a reminder of all the horrible shit you’ve gone through; from your dad being the shittiest dad growing up, your parent’s divorce, your dad getting arrested, and lost love.”

Harry isn’t quite sure how to reply. This really isn’t what he had been expecting. “Nothing holds me here? You’re here.”

“Shut up,” Liam says with a laugh. “Of course I am. But I’ll visit.”

“Okay, well.” Harry takes a deep breath, exhaling it audibly. “I think I’m moving to Indiana.”

“Buy a winter coat.”

 

Harry knocks on the door in front of him. It looks just like a normal door, just a simple front door, completely inconspicuous. Behind the door, however, is another story. Behind the door could potentially change things for Harry, for better or for worse. 

Hours ago, what feels like days ago, Liam had dropped Harry off at the airport. There had been tears. There had been plenty of hugs. There had been more tears. Hours later, Harry finds himself standing in front of a door that could bring more tears, whether good or bad.

The door finally swings open, revealing a sleep rumpled Louis. He’s just in a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, running a hand through his hair. He completely stills when he sees that Harry is the one behind the knock.

“You’re here.” Louis’ jaw drops, staring at Harry standing on his doorstep. “Why are you here?”

“It was too painful,” Harry says, tucking his hands into his pockets. Now that he’s here, actually standing in front of Louis, he’s starting to think it’s a bad idea. Maybe Louis doesn’t even want him there. “My dad raised me there, and then he was arrested there. I fell in love and had my heartbroken there. I want a fresh start.”

Louis nods, mulling this over. He bites at his lower lip, pulling at the dry skin there with his teeth. “Is there a chance you may want to include me in your fresh start?”

“I wouldn’t fly across the country if I didn’t.”

 

Zayn finds a disc waiting for him on his desk when he gets into work the day after Harry flies out to Indiana. Liam had filled him in on the situation, and Zayn was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, actually. 

He turns over the disc, looking for some kind of writing on it or a note left behind. There’s nothing, just the silver disc laying there. He pulls his laptop out of his bag, followed by his headphones. He takes a second to detangle them while his laptop starts up. 

Finally, Zayn’s laptop starts and he pops the disc in. Harry’s face pops up onto the screen, hair pushed back by a headband and looking as pretentious as always in his floral button down. Truth be told, he had come to grow on Zayn by the end, and they were maybe even kind of friends, but Zayn’s barely ready to admit that to himself.

He presses play, Harry’s voice immediately filling his ears.

“ _ Hey, Zaynie boy, if you’re watching this then I’m dead. _ ” He pauses before continuing. “ _ Just kidding! I flew to Indiana to be with Louis.”  _ Zayn knows this, of course.  _ “A super romantic gesture, I know. Take notes. You’ll only be able to woo Liam if you’re super romantic like me. Trust me, I’m his best friend. I know these things. _ ”

Zayn rolls his eyes. He takes back any nice thought he’d ever had about Harry. Even in video form, he was still the most annoying fucker. He always acted like he knew everything. Well, he didn’t seem to know that Liam spent the night in his bed last night, so that was something.

“ _ Anyway, now that I’m gone and you’re back to being the alpha man in the police station, I thought I would share something with you. _ ” Zayn has a feeling he knows where this is going, and he feels dread settling in his stomach. He has no desire to hear the words he had once been so desperate to hear. “ _ You were rig- _ ”

Zayn closes the laptop and snaps the disc in half. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to check out the [fic post!](http://microlouis.tumblr.com/post/183054595140/ive-heard-it-both-ways-i-uh-harry-is)


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